


Just How Rare and Precious You Are

by stardropdream



Series: Another Word for Forever [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Culture, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Bathing/Washing, Birthday Fluff, Birthday Presents, Cultural Differences, Established Relationship, First Dates, Fluff, Galra Keith (Voltron), Implied Sexual Content, Language Barrier, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22930573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Now married and mated, Shiro and Keith begin their journey to their new home on Daibazaal. Before that, though, they're making a pit-stop on Earth. When Keith learns about Terran birthday celebrations, and the relative rareness of Shiro's birthday itself, he's determined to honor his mate the way he deserves to be celebrated.There's still so much about his husband's culture that Keith doesn't understand. But he's always been up for a challenge.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Another Word for Forever [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628308
Comments: 304
Kudos: 703





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeeonthebrunhild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeonthebrunhild/gifts).



> Fic request from [Amanda](https://twitter.com/SundaySEternal), who asked for a continuation of Another Word for Forever! This time, the boys are going to Earth and it's Shiro's birthday! 
> 
> I'm told that this reads nicely even without having read the first fic, but naturally there's lots of background to be had in the original fic! 
> 
> As with the previous fic, there is a language barrier here; I try to clarify in the narrative which languages are being spoken and at what time, but for a general shorthand, any fully italicized dialogue is in Galran, and non-italicized dialogue is in Terran. Also, when characters use the "universal translator", that's referring to the Star Trek concept of a device implanted in the ear that automatically translates languages both heard and spoken for its wearers. 
> 
> Finally, as a reminder, in this universe, the Galra communicate with three languages: verbal language, the subharmonic language, and body language. 
> 
> ... So anyway. Heard y'all wanted some Keith POV. 
> 
> Thank you to [Meg](https://twitter.com/kedawen) for the helpful suggestions and notes!

“ _And if we stay on schedule, we’ll reach Earth in two quintants, Your Highness,_ ” Hunk finishes with a definitive nod, looking up from the PADD he’s translated for Keith. 

“ _You’re excited to reach your home,_ ” Keith says, observing. Hunk, like many Humans, tends to smile too much in Keith’s opinion, but he thinks that Hunk’s smile now must be honest— genuine delight to be returning home. 

“ _You have no idea,_ ” Hunk sighs. “ _Or maybe you do? You’re probably excited to return to Daibazaal._ ” 

Keith says nothing because he isn’t going to lie, but the truth is far too complicated. Thankfully, Hunk tends to accept Keith’s silences as something cultural and not just Keith’s personal awkwardness since he never presses Keith on it. 

The truth is that Keith’s more excited to see Earth than he is Daibazaal. It’s been a long journey from Altea now that the peace-talks between their planets are wrapped up. Keith knows he should be celebrating the great political maneuverings that led to it. 

But even as a prince-representative of the Marmora clan, Keith has never had a need for or interest in politics. Keith’s part was always only to be pawn in a cultural marriage for the sake of peace between their planets: a Marmoran prince and his Terran mate. 

And if Keith is truthful with himself, his focus and thoughts have been on little else but Shiro since that moment they met. 

Before he left Daibazaal for Altea, his mother had reminded him of such a possibility. And certainly Keith has grown up on stories of the _vrínt liisva_ and its effects on the Galra. Keith could not have guessed how deeply the mating pull would pluck him apart or how world-altering it would feel to find, accept, and be accepted by his _v’veivak._

But he did find his mate, his chosen. And now they are only quintants away from his husband’s home planet. 

It’ll be a short visit, enough to drop off the Terran delegates, resupply, and prepare for the continued journey to Daibazaal. Shiro’s warned Keith of the parties and further diplomacy once they land on Earth, but Keith is looking forward to seeing the land of Shiro’s birth— and the home of his father. 

It makes Keith smile. 

“ _It will be nice to see Earth,_ ” Keith says neutrally, smothering the involuntary smile back down again. 

“ _I can’t wait to see my family again,_ ” Hunk says with a sigh. “ _I miss my mom’s homecooked meals, let me tell you! Altea does not know how to grow Terran food!_ ” 

Keith nods, mourning the fact that his own mother can’t join him on Earth. He thinks she’d like to see it all, too— to see the world Keith’s father came from. 

But there will be time in the future. Keith imagines that if this peace lasts between their planets, Shiro will want to return to Earth several times.

And that, of course, is its own fear: Shiro on Daibazaal. 

“And hey,” Hunk says, slipping back into Terran. “Pretty exciting we’ll arrive in time for the Captain’s birthday, huh?” 

Keith frowns as the words translate but no comprehension comes with it. He is familiar, or at least aware, of Terran _days_ over quintants— his father never quite adapted to the universal time-system and often remarked on the _beautiful day_ to Keith and his mother. 

“Shiro is not giving birth,” Keith says, feeling foolish— he’s certain that’s not what Hunk means. Keith’s _sulad’vok_ thrums with concern, the under-voice coloring his every breath with uncertainty and shame. 

He hates to look foolish in front of others. Hunk can’t hear his under-voice, but that’s its own embarrassment: a low-level vibration from his throat dripping each word with insecurity. 

“Oh,” Hunk says. “ _It’s the day we’re born— we celebrate that rather than our naming quintant._ ” 

Keith frowns. “ _You do not celebrate your quintant-name?_ ” More importantly, though: “When is Shiro’s ‘birthday’, then?” 

“ _I’m surprised he hasn’t told you,_ ” Hunk says. 

Keith does not wilt at the observation, but a small warning growl kicks up in his chest. Unlike his under-voice, though, this is audible for Humans. Hunk’s shoulders go rigid and his smile freezes a bit. 

Keith steps away from the observation deck’s massive bank of windows and approaches Hunk. Based purely on how Hunk’s eyes widen, Keith’s certain he must look alarming.

“No, I meant, um, sorry, Your Highness. _I meant— his is rare_ ,” Hunk says, holding up his hands in what Keith assumes must be a conciliatory gesture. 

“ _Rare_?” Keith asks, frowning. He stops before Hunk, his shoulders hitching up slowly. It’s a subtle movement and one most Humans miss regardless. Even with Hunk’s knowledge of the Galran spoken language, he is still Human— he cannot hear Keith’s _sulad’vok_ and he cannot pinpoint Keith’s mannerisms. 

Keith never holds this against the Humans. The combination of three separate languages, woven into one, is a struggle even for some Galra. 

Shiro tries. Keith loves that about him. 

“ _He’s born on—_ Er, I don’t know how to say this in Galran.” 

“Go on,” Keith says. His Terran has improved since meeting Shiro. “Speak slow.” 

Hunk nods, looking vaguely alarmed. “Shiro’s born on Leap Day,” Hunk says. “The way the Earth revolves its sun, we have three-hundred sixty-five days usually, but that’s not a full revolution and it doesn’t correspond to our calendar system, so we—” 

“Slow down,” Keith says. He caught perhaps three of those words. 

Times like this, Keith’s reminded that while Hunk is the leading Human expert in Galra language, he is not an interpreter by trade. Hunk stops mid-sentence, hands gesturing to illustrate a point, and his face turns red in embarrassment. 

“Sorry!” Hunk says, flustered. Keith nods his head in acknowledgement of the words and waits for Hunk to collect himself. “Okay,” Hunk says. “How much do you know about the Terran solar calendar?” 

Hunk walks Keith through the explanation— most of it is beyond Keith. He can’t understand the logic of division. A _year_ is twelve _months_. Each one has a name and a number of _days_ within it. This number changes. Hours to a day never changes nor minutes to an hour. But the days to a month do even while the months to a year never change order. Keith stops trying to remember which _month_ has how many days. 

The ‘basics’ described, Hunk describes the Leap Year and Leap Day. It is confusing and illogical and ridiculous— but that seems very Human to Keith. Humans seem to enjoy complications and challenges. 

“So my point,” Hunk says with a punctuating sigh, “is that the actual day of Shiro’s birthday is only every four years. It’s the rarest birthday.” 

Appropriate, given that Shiro himself is a rare person— kind and thoughtful. Most of the time, Keith still can’t believe that someone like him could want Keith. 

Keith’s hand lifts to grip his braid, fiddling with its end. It’s become something of a nervous habit. He’s not used to wearing his hair in the twisted _vavdok_ style, denoting his mated status. It still sends a shiver rippling down his spine when he thinks of it. 

Shiro wrapped his hair for him just this morning, the plaits looser than they should be, but more precious to Keith because it was Shiro’s fingers that crafted the braid. Keith thumbs at the red ribbon at the end of it and feels more centered. 

“Do Humans celebrate their births?” 

“Rather than their quintant-name, yeah,” Hunk says. “Humans are big on birthday surprises and things like that.” 

Shiro hasn’t mentioned his birthday to Keith. But of course Keith wants to do something for him— quintant-names, birthdays— they are precious things and worth celebrating. 

In this, Keith sees an opportunity. 

Shiro is generous. Keith’s known that since the moment they’ve met— self-sacrificing and focused on Keith’s comfort. It is Shiro who will relocate to Daibazaal. It is Shiro who wears the Marmora-style clothing rather than the styles he is used to. It is Shiro who covers Keith in his scent because he knows it eases Keith. It is Shiro who learns Galran, who grows frustrated with himself when he doesn’t know the words instantly. 

Keith wears a ring, a symbol of Terran culture, and little else. He knows all that his husband has done for him and continues to do for him. 

Keith, by comparison, feels as if he’s done very little but cause his mate frustration. 

“It is… expected to celebrate?” Keith asks Hunk, tugging on his braid, letting the twisting threads of his hair comfort him. 

“Usually?” Hunk says. He holds up his hand again— a favorite gesture, it seems. “You should ask Shiro about this, not me.” 

“You said it is a surprise.” 

Hunk looks a little cornered. Keith wonders if his expression looks unwelcoming. His under-voice isn’t angry but that would do Hunk little comfort. 

“Y- yeah?” Hunk asks. “ _You’re looking kind of intense, Your Highness._ ”

Keith tries to school his expression back into something more neutral. Internally, however, anxiety twists in his chest to think of Shiro’s birthday passing without incident from Keith. If birthdays are as revered as quintant-names, then Keith would fail his mate utterly by neglecting it. 

He feels out of his depth, however. But for Shiro, he will do any manner of things. For Shiro, he would do _anything._

-

Once Keith updates his clan members on their impending arrival to Earth, he reconvenes with Shiro. 

Shiro’s spent the better part of a varga discussing Altean accommodations on Earth with Princess Allura. Shiro looks up when Keith enters the chamber, his eyes finding Keith immediately and his entire expression lighting up. 

Keith loves that about Shiro— now that he knows what to look for, he knows just how expressive Shiro is. It’s a wonder to Keith that he once found Shiro completely inscrutable. Meeting Shiro, getting to know Shiro, made Keith too aware of how utterly he relied on the under-voice to understand others. Other Humans may still puzzle him, but Shiro is as open as the sky.

Sometimes, he still wants to mistrust a smile, thinking it only a lie. But more and more, he’s learned to simply trust Shiro— trust that when Shiro smiles at him like _this_ , it can only ever be true. 

“Keith,” Shiro greets, his smile warming his voice, and it makes Keith flush red-purple. 

Keith takes the hand Shiro holds out to him, threading their fingers together easily and stepping into the space at Shiro’s side that was meant for Keith. 

“I’ll let the others know of our plan stepping forward,” Allura says, powering down her PADD and nodding politely to Keith. “I’ll be with Coran should you need me.” 

“Of course, Princess,” Shiro says. “Let me know if anyone has concerns about the Garden Hotel.” 

Allura nods, her smile turning playful as she says, “I’ll speak with you later, Your Highness.” 

She leaves the room after that, a swish of her dress fluttering behind her with her hair, and Keith’s left blinking after her. She hadn’t been addressing Keith when she said that, but Shiro. 

He looks up at Shiro in confusion. Keith feels his expression pinch. Shiro smiles down at him regardless.

Shiro waits until the door shuts behind Allura fully before he slides his fingers down the length of Keith’s braid and lifts it, pressing a reverent kiss just before the red ribbon, and then leaning in to kiss Keith properly. Both rob Keith of breath in equal measures. 

He’s never going to be used to the way Shiro touches him. It sets him on fire. 

“Shiro,” Keith grumbles, embarrassed, but it only makes Shiro smile more as he kisses Keith in quick bursts, a series of short kisses against Keith’s pouting mouth. 

To think that Keith once believed that Shiro hated to be touched. Now that Shiro has permission to do so, he’s rarely ever _not_ touching Keith. 

Keith’s under-voice betrays his pleasure, regardless, even if Shiro can’t hear it. He bumps his forehead to Shiro’s, holding there, and stares into Shiro’s eyes. The pull draws him ever-closer to Shiro, wanting to get lost in the depths of his eyes. 

“Why did the princess call you that?” Keith asks, letting the mating pull center him, just focusing on the endless cosmos of Shiro’s eyes. His mate. 

“She’s teasing me,” Shiro explains, casually tucking a piece of Keith’s hair back behind his flicking ear. “ _Because I am married at Galran royalty, she says also I am royalty._ ” At Keith’s bewildered expression, Shiro just laughs, fumbling through his Galran: “ _She knows it does not work as that._ ” 

It _doesn’t_ work like that, it’s true. But Keith still knows that Shiro would be an excellent clan leader, if only his clan would accept a Human as such. 

“You’re staring again,” Shiro teases. He always says as much when Keith is performing the mating gaze. He thinks he’s hilarious whenever he points it out. 

“I could look at you forever and never tire,” Keith says. He knows it surprises Shiro because his ears turn pink. Someday, Keith thinks, his husband will stop being surprised by the truth. 

With the mating gaze established, Keith lets his eyes sink away. He presses a kiss to Shiro’s jaw and then curls his arms around Shiro’s middle, collapsing into his chest. He snuggles close and Shiro lets out a breath. He accepts the hug readily, scooping his arms around Keith and holding him close. Keith relaxes only once he feels Shiro nosing into his hair, his smile pressing against his temple. 

And then Shiro tips his head, exposing his neck to Keith. It’s a silent invitation, a habit formed that Shiro doesn’t even think about. Keith accepts it readily, shifting in close and nuzzling first up the long column of his mate’s throat and then licking over the mating mark, sharing himself and replenishing the comforting coil of their scents mixing together. 

In this, too, Shiro is generous— he knows there’s still much Shiro doesn’t understand about the instinctual need between mates, but he does whatever he can to please Keith regardless. 

He is a good man. He deserves the universe. 

“ _Are you excited to return to Earth?_ ” Keith asks once he’s finished licking and nosing at Shiro’s neck, thoroughly covering him. 

Shiro’s big hand strokes up Keith’s back and the nape of his neck. He hums thoughtfully to the question and smiles when Keith pulls back to look at him. 

Keith examines the smile, trying to determine if it is a truthful one or an automatic one that Shiro wears like armor. Shiro’s eyes are kind, but they always are, and that reveals very little. Keith’s under-voice twists with uncertainty, sighing in his lungs. 

“ _I’m excited for you to see it,_ ” Shiro says. He grins then— bright and unrestrained. Truthful, then. “ _There’s so much I want to show you._ ” 

“Is there…” Keith pauses, brow pinching as he struggles to find the Terran words. “Anything that will happen? Important?” 

“Anything could happen,” Shiro agrees, misunderstanding Keith’s pointed question. He strokes his hand over Keith’s back, still content to cuddle with him. It’s profoundly distracting. “We’ll have to wait and see.” 

Keith grumbles low in his under-voice, butting his head against Shiro’s shoulder and nuzzling. Shiro chuckles, fingers dragging over the nape of his neck and up, digging into the thick curl of his hair. It’ll knock his braid loose, but that never fails to make Keith shudder. He loves it when Shiro messes up his braid because inevitably he fixes it, too. He just likes Shiro’s hands on him, touching him so casually, so gently. 

Keith’s hands on Shiro dig in a bit deeper, claws pricking. He feels his husband shiver in turn. 

“We have a little time before dinner…” Shiro says and even without an under-voice, the thread of desire is clear. Shiro so rarely tries to hide how much he desires Keith. 

Keith catches Shiro’s mouth with his, backing him up towards the nearest wall with purposeful ease. 

-

Later, Keith lounges on their bed and watches Shiro through half-closed eyes. Shiro’s thumbing through his PADD, loading up his next Galran lesson as Keith naps. 

Shiro’s hair is all mussed up, his exposed clavicle and neck covered in Keith’s bites. 

Keith contents himself with just watching his husband, the way the blankets pool around his hips, how he leans back against the headboard with a perfectly sated expression. Happiness pours off him in waves and Keith feels the coil of pleasure and pride knowing he’s the reason for it. 

His husband is beautiful, even sitting in the artificial light of the ship, his body golden and warm, covered in Keith’s marks and scent. 

Keith wriggles a little closer on the bed, stretched out and luxuriating. He misses lying in the sealgrass with Shiro, the Altean sun beating down upon his exposed skin. The light in the ship is a poor substitute. He wonders what Sol feels like, what it will be like to lie beneath the Earth sun with Shiro at his side. 

He knows Earth is quite varied in its terrain and he comes from a region full of dry heat and sand; Keith will have to wait to see how it compares. He wonders if Shiro will like the heat on Daibazaal. If he’ll like the desert terrain, the lack of rain. 

He wonders if Shiro will grow lonely and languishing, as he fears he will: the lone Human on a barren planet. 

Keith still doesn’t fully understand Terran birthday traditions, but it suddenly feels important to Keith to get it right— that he must give Shiro a lasting happy memory, just in case. Just in case it is the last time he will see Shiro’s beaming smile. He must provide for his mate in all ways, but especially in guarding this happiness. 

If only he knew the proper way to do so. 

Before Keith’s under-voice can slide into distress, Shiro reaches out blindly to take Keith’s hand. His eyes stay on the PADD as he works through his lesson one-handed, the other lifting Keith’s wrist to his mouth. He nuzzles at the scenting spot, lapping his tongue absently across his skin. He doesn’t draw his eyes away from his work, but scents Keith methodically, absently coaxing the tension from Keith’s body. 

After a few doboshes, Shiro presses a lingering kiss to the tendons of his wrist and finally looks up from his PADD to smile at Keith, his eyes soft. 

“You alright, baby?” 

“Yes,” Keith answers. “I am thinking only.”

“Something on your mind?” Shiro asks and then corrects when Keith furrows his brow: “ _What are you thinking about?_ ” 

“Surprises,” Keith says solemnly. 

Shiro huffs a breath. “Surprises?” 

“Yes.”

Shiro’s smiling now, eyes glittering. “You can pout all you want, but I’m not ruining the surprise.” 

Keith tries to process the words. “What?” 

“I’m not telling you where we’re going when we get to Earth,” Shiro teases, nuzzling at Keith’s wrist and giving him another pointed lick. 

Keith doesn’t know the etiquette behind surprises on one’s birthday. He imagines it’s not typical for the one celebrating to facilitate the surprise. But then again, Shiro has never struck him as typical. 

“No. My surprises,” Keith says with a frown. 

Shiro blinks at him, his smile quirking up to one side. “Are these surprises I get to know?” 

“No.” 

Shiro chuckles and kisses Keith’s wrist one last time before lowering it back down, setting it on the bed with gentle care. It’s a silly gesture, considering Keith just snaps his hand out again to stroke across Shiro’s belly, tracing his abs. 

“What of your lesson?” Keith asks, for something better to focus on. 

“ _I would like to visit the mountain with you at sunset,_ ” Shiro recites as he reads from his datapad, his pronunciation still awful even after phoebs of study. 

Truthfully, Keith finds it charming. He’s always admired how hard Shiro tries. That he’s still trying, even with their improved universal translators. He knows it’s important to Shiro. 

His heart feels full for how much he loves his mate. It feels like it goes deeper than _vrínt liisva_. Keith wonders if Shiro would believe him if he were to say as much— that his care for Shiro spans even deeper than the mating pull, deeper than evolutionary instinct. That sometimes he feels like he was born for Shiro and that the universe itself was only a road to find him. 

Keith squirms closer and presses a kiss to Shiro’s hip, over a lingering mark he left with his teeth not a varga earlier. Shiro chuffs a laugh, so Keith lifts himself up and presses a kiss to the corner of Shiro’s mouth just to feel it tuck up into a wider smile. 

He doesn’t know how Shiro manages to make Keith feel lighter, less weighed down with his thoughts. It’s a treasure and an honor to share words with him. 

“ _Take me to the mountains, husband,_ ” he says, teasing. 

“Don’t distract me,” Shiro scolds and then turns his head to kiss Keith properly. His fingers come up to curl in Keith’s hair, unruly and long since knocked loose from his marriage braid. 

“You distract yourself,” Keith says.

“ _If we go to the mountains at sunset, we will see many things,_ ” Shiro reads. He punctuates the statement by pressing a kiss to Keith’s jaw. It makes Keith rattle.

He knows Shiro likes the rattle— he calls it purring— and this time is no different. He watches Shiro’s expression melt as he registers the sound. He tugs playfully on Keith’s hair just to make his breath hitch, the rattle rumbling. 

Shiro tips their foreheads together and stares into his eyes. It makes Keith shiver whenever Shiro initiates the mating gaze. 

But then Shiro says, deeply serious: “ _I would like to go to the mountains with you at sunset._ ” 

Then he grins. It makes Keith snort, nudging forward to butt his forehead against Shiro’s again, indulgently. “My husband is…” He can’t find the word in Terran and settles for, “ _absurd._ ” 

“But you like me anyway,” Shiro says. 

Because he knows it’ll fluster Shiro, and he so does love to fluster Shiro, Keith says simply: “I do. You are my heart.” 

Shiro drops his PADD, face burning red. “Keith!” 

This, at least, Keith knows is not a competition between them— but Keith also knows if it were, he’d be winning. 

“As I am yours,” Keith says, holding back his smile, his under-voice thrumming with delight. “Since you insist upon calling me your sweet heart.” 

He’s playing it up now, but Shiro looks delighted, too. He’s blushing, his eyes bright and his grin wide. Keith doesn’t need to guess that it’s a true smile. Shiro is happy. 

He wants to always make his mate smile. 

“Sweetheart,” Shiro coos, and draws Keith in closer. “Keith.” 

Keith laughs. It’s always easier to laugh with Shiro. 

Shiro deserves the universe. Keith will do everything in his power to honor him on his quintant-name. 

-

The evening before they’re due to land on Earth, Keith sends a call to his mother. She takes some time to answer, but when she does, her pleasure at seeing him hums through her under-voice, loud and unrestrained and unashamed about it. 

Keith tries to make his louder in response; but his Human genetics have always left his quiet. His mother’s never held it against him, of course, but it’s an insecurity Keith’s carried ever since he first learned it was _different_. 

He knows how there are those in his clan who would find it outrageous that an untrustworthy Galra, one without a loud under-voice, should be a potential leader. 

“ _Kit,_ ” his mother says, her eyes warm as she greets her son. 

“ _Mom,_ ” Keith says and feels his ears tip forward, his under-voice waving up his throat in happiness and relief. He’s missed her tremendously. 

His mom asks of his journey and the members of the clan who accompanied Keith for negotiations and his wedding party. He asks after her and the clan, of Daibazaal and the _et’vok boj_ feast he’s missed in his long stay on Altea. 

Ultimately, as talks with his mother always do, the conversation turns to Shiro. She has yet to meet him— their first official meeting will be on Daibazaal, as is tradition— but has certainly heard Keith’s struggles with his marriage on Altea. And embarrassingly, she’s also heard of Keith’s triumphs once Shiro completed the rite. The rudimentary mating mark on Keith’s neck is hard to miss. 

“ _Did dad ever celebrate a_ ‘birthday’ _rather than a quintant-name?_ ” Keith asks his mother once they finish discussing Shiro. 

His mother tilts her head, her under-voice chirping with curiosity. “ _Why?_ ” 

“ _Shiro’s_ ‘birthday’ _will arrive while we’re on Earth,_ ” Keith says. “ _I want to celebrate it, and him, but I’m not sure of the traditions… Hunk said it’s about surprise. So I can’t ask Shiro. Did Dad ever do anything?_ ” 

He watches his mom think it over, eyes falling shut as she considers. She goes still, her under-voice silent, and Keith waits as she remembers. 

“ _Gifts are expected,_ ” she says finally. “ _Do you remember the gifts he’d give you as a kit? It was for your quintant-name, but it was a Terran tradition._ ” 

Keith nods, his heart feeling twisted up thinking of his father. He remembers the gifts— hand-crafted toys, what he called a ‘tire swing’ in front of their home, books about the stars. It isn’t Galra tradition to give gifts on a quintant-name, and the gifts never arrived then, but before. 

On Keith’s birthday, then. The quintant he was born rather than his quintant-name. 

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last time, Keith misses his dad. 

His under-voice betrays the thought and his mother mimics it. 

“ _Kit,_ ” she says, and Keith wishes she were here to hold him, to nuzzle her nose against his temple like she always does when she comforts him. 

“ _It’s okay,_ ” Keith says. “ _I remember. But… anything else?_ ” 

His mother’s expression is sympathetic, but she accepts Keith’s insistence. “ _He would sing a song._ ” 

Keith’s brow pinches. “ _A song?_ ” 

He has no experience with writing a song, but he thinks that if anyone could inspire him to put melody to his feelings, it would be Shiro. He wonders what sort of music Shiro even likes— what sort of instruments exist on Earth— and if it’s anything like what Keith enjoys. Keith’s always loved the _povrav_ for its gentle melodies. 

Keith considers and nods.

“ _Thanks, Mom,_ ” he says. 

“ _Always, kit._ ” 

-

“You are friends with Shiro,” Keith says in lieu of greeting when he finds Allura in the control room of the ship. 

“Yes?” 

She sets down the work before her and stands. Keith feels out of his depth as she stands to her full height, her expression lax and open. He knows that Shiro wants them to be friends and friendly, but Keith always feels uncertain with anyone who _isn’t_ Shiro. 

Allura’s done nothing to prompt the feeling and awkwardness from Keith, but he feels overly exposed with her all the same. 

“His… birthday,” Keith prompts, his under-voice broadcasting his uncertainty and inelegance. “I wish to celebrate it but do not know the traditions.” 

Allura hums. She is, of course, of a race that prides itself in its cross-culture understanding; certainly, if anyone knew of Terran traditions it would be an Altean. 

“My mother told me of the gifts and song,” Keith says. 

“The song accompanies a cake, I believe,” Allura says. “I’m not so familiar… Shiro so rarely speaks of such things with me.” 

Keith remembers that day with Shiro on Altea, when he admitted he didn’t have many friends. It’d surprised Keith at the time to think of someone so revered and celebrated as Captain Shirogane being without friends. It’s true that he and Allura are friends, but Shiro’s told Keith that it’s not the same sort of friendship he has with Keith— someone he can trust everything with, all sides of himself. 

When he first met Shiro, he believed him to be so confident. He quickly learned differently, but it’s still precious to Keith whenever Shiro is vulnerable with him, whenever he shows how uncertain he is. 

“What is a… cake?” 

“You might ask Hunk for that,” Allura says with a laugh, not scolding but more endeared. It still makes Keith flush purple-red, embarrassed to be so out of his depth and so clearly helpless. He doesn’t like showing this side to anyone. 

“Of course.” 

“And… I believe the idea for a birthday is to be pampered,” Allura says after some deliberation. She smiles then, just a touch sad. “Is it any wonder that Shiro wouldn’t mention it, in that case?” 

Keith has to agree with that. If ever there was someone who cared for others before himself, it’s Shiro. 

He does an Altean-style bow, under-voice twisting with gratefulness. “I’ll see what I can do for him.” 

“Good luck,” Allura tells him, returning the bow. 

-

“Oh god,” Hunk groans when Keith inevitably asks him, “ _If you make a cake, please, please, please let me help you. I still remember Shiro trying to make you soup._ ” 

Keith muffles his smile, grateful that Hunk won’t hear his pleased, endeared under-voice. He still thinks of that soup fondly— Shiro’s insistence on making it himself and failing it so utterly, and gifting Keith a betrothal soup. 

It was the first moment Keith had looked at Shiro and thought, _I’m lucky._

“ _You don’t think I can make a cake?_ ” Keith asks. He has no idea what a cake entails, but it can’t be too difficult. 

“ _Baking is very different from cooking,_ ” Hunk says with utmost gravity. “ _Do not try to make a cake for Shiro without my recipe, at least._ ” 

Keith makes no promises, but he’s at least grateful to know that Allura’s assessment is correct— cakes are part of the traditional Terran Birthday celebrations. 

“ _What else must I know?_ ” 

Hunk groans, looking world-weary, and Keith shouldn’t feel amused by the reaction and yet he does— he appreciates Hunk and his friendship. 

“ _We put candles in the cake,_ ” Hunk says. “ _Sing_ ‘Happy Birthday’ _and make a wish on the candles before blowing them out._ ” 

Despite speaking in Galran, the words are incomprehensible. Keith waits a beat, desperate for understanding to dawn. When that doesn’t arrive, he gives Hunk a bewildered look. He feels his ears pin back against his skull in his confusion. 

Once again, his hand returns to his marriage braid, holding tight to it and letting it center him. 

Keith will have to find candles. He can’t understand the concept of setting a cake on fire, but he’ll do whatever it takes to make Shiro happy and to celebrate his birthday. 

“Very well,” Keith says, making mental notes on everything he’ll need to do once they arrive on Earth. 

It will be a challenge to complete these rituals without Shiro noticing, considering how closely they stay by one another’s sides, but Keith’s always been up for a challenge.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad everyone's enjoying the fic so far! ♥ Third chapter will be up tomorrow!

The ship arrives in the Sol System on schedule. Shiro wakes in their bed utterly delighted when the ship-wide announcement goes out, looking disheveled and boyish as he presses his face to his and Keith’s viewport, watching as their ship whizzes by familiar planetary milestones. 

He tugs Keith up from bed to point to Saturn in particular, gushing about the massive ring belting around the gaseous giant. Keith’s still half-awake, slumping against Shiro to press into his back— spooning, Shiro calls it— and nuzzling at his neck. 

“Really, look,” Shiro insists, pouting when Keith nips at his jaw and licks his mating mark instead of looking out the window. 

But Keith can be an accommodating mate. He does watch the planets as Shiro points them out to him, listening indulgently as Shiro explains the history and composition of each one. It is interesting, and Keith’s always loved exploring the universe, too— it’s his first time entering the solar system of his father, after all. 

But it’s hard to be enthusiastic about Jupiter’s red spot when he’d much rather leave red marks all over Shiro’s body. It’s very distracting to hold his naked mate in his arms and not be doing anything about it. 

“We’ll be at Earth soon,” Shiro says. “I can’t wait for you to see it, Keith.” 

As soon as Keith lays eyes on Earth, he understands Shiro’s excitement. He’s heard of what Earth looks like, has seen pictures of it, has heard even his father describing ‘the blue marble we call home’, but it’s another thing entirely to see it for himself. 

The planet swirls with blue and green, the coils of white clouds punctuating its atmosphere. His father made marbles for Keith once, hand-blew them with glass he melted in a furnace he borrowed from a clan member. It took his father weeks and Keith had loved them, rolling them upon their floor while his father beamed. 

Keith understands why Humans might be poetic about their planet. It does, for all Keith can tell, look exactly like a marble. 

All that blue means lots of water, which Keith continues to feel ambivalent about, but otherwise it is stunning. Shiro is quiet beside him as well, watching as the ship approaches his home planet. 

He waits for Keith to look away before he cups his chin and kisses him. His thumb swipes across Keith’s bottom lip as he draws back. 

“Almost as beautiful as you,” Shiro tells him. 

“It is odd to compare your husband to a planet,” Keith says. 

Shiro’s smile turns crooked, like he wants to say something but he’s holding it back. _You’re my world,_ Keith determines. That’s what Shiro wants to say. That’s what Shiro _would_ say because Shiro is romantic. Because Shiro is kind and good and likes to tease Keith even while being earnest. If Shiro were to say it, he’d mean it. 

Shiro tilts his head. “You’re staring again, baby.” 

“I do not stare,” Keith reminds him. “And I am no infant.” 

Shiro’s smile widens, his eyes bright. He’s handsome. The mating pull coils in Keith’s chest and he shifts closer towards his husband. Shiro holds out his hand to him and Keith’s quick to lace their fingers together. 

“Like what you see?” Shiro asks, teasing.

“You are handsome,” Keith says. 

It makes Shiro’s face turn pink. Keith likes it when it does that. “I— oh.” 

“Was that not what you were asking?” Keith asks, hiding his own smile. He can’t help but tease Shiro. 

Shiro must realize, eyes narrowing. He gives a sharp tug on Keith’s hand so that he comes toppling over into Shiro’s lap. Shiro catches him easily and kisses him, one hand coiling into his long hair, cradling the back of his head. 

Keith gives a luxurious, pleased rattle and kisses him back. 

“You are a beautiful world,” Keith tells him once they part, since Shiro didn’t say it first. It’s worth it for the way Shiro beams at him, face as red as the burrowing _lasvika_ in the sands of Daibazaal. 

-

Landing on Earth with the Galran and Altean parties means arriving to fanfare, celebratory platitudes, and other political nonsense. Keith is, after all, the first Galra to ever set foot on Earth. 

Their arrival is met with media and official welcoming, photographs taken and everything recorded for the vids they’ll show across the universe. It’s the dawning of a new era: the reclusive and secretive Daibazaal reemerging from its thousands-decaphoeb-long self-isolation; the universe was once the Galra playground, a massive empire spanning across galaxies. Daibazaal’s steps to rejoin the universal council and forge peace between the planets means a new era— met with joyous optimism or cautious quiet. 

Keith knows he and Shiro are not the only political marriage. There are Galra of other clans returning to other planets, mated with Alteans, with Olkari, with Balmerans, with any other of the inter-universal council of species. He and Shiro are not special except to each other, and to what they represent for universal relations. 

Keith had time to prepare for this fanfare, had been warned of it, but it’s still a little overwhelming to be in the midst of flashing lights and reporters. For thousands of decaphoebs, the Galra were reclusive, receding into the corners of history in the wake of a failed empire— it feels very exposing to be presented so fully into alien eyes. 

But Shiro offers his hand to Keith to help him off the ramp leading from the ship and, together, they step onto Shiro’s home planet. That makes it easier, and Keith could face anything with his mate by his side. 

They must look a sight, really— their mating marks clear for anyone who looks for them, Shiro’s white hair catching in the lights of the hangar, his Galran-style clothes sweeping around him. Keith, wearing Shiro’s Terran-style leather jacket over his own clothes, both of them holding hands. He hopes their rings glint in the flash of photography. He hopes everyone knows who they belong to. 

It’s a flurry of vargas before Keith feels as if he might breathe again, but he lets Shiro’s sure hold center him. 

Only once they’re left alone again, left to breathe, does Shiro lift their hands and press a tender kiss to Keith’s scenting spot. 

“You did well,” he murmurs and the praise flushes through Keith. His under-voice kicks up in undisguised pleasure. 

He leans heavily into Shiro’s side, head resting on his shoulder. Without prompting, Shiro nuzzles into the crown of his head and it’s profoundly comforting. Keith’s eyes flutter shut. 

“Do you want to rest?” Shiro asks. “We’ve been given a room in the Garden Hotel with the Alteans and your clan.” 

Keith shakes his head. It feels as if they’ve landed and stayed indoors for their entire time so far. It's been pictures and welcomes and political speeches— all within the Terran Garrison compound. 

Keith wants to go outside— he wants to see the world, wants to smell the air, wants to feel the drag of gravity upon his shoulders, the pressure of the earth swelling beneath his feet. He wants to see the way the sunlight catches Shiro’s hair, the way their rings might shine from the rays of the Terran sun. 

After the barrenness of space, of the spaceship, Keith just wants to feel the world around him— with Shiro. 

“I would… _I want to see your home,_ ” Keith says. 

Shiro grins, full-bodied and sweet, and says, “I was hoping you’d say that.” 

They weave through the hallways of the Terran compound. Keith has no idea where they’re headed but trusts Shiro to lead the way. 

He brings them to a hangar and Shiro doesn’t hesitate to tug him towards the slowly-opening hatch. “I have a surprise for you.” 

It makes Keith want to pout. He is, after all, the one who is meant to create the surprises. 

“I called ahead and made sure that she was ready for us— look!” Shiro says, gesturing. 

Ahead of them is an aircraft— not space-faring, and hardly upper-atmosphere faring considering its open cockpit. A vehicle of some sort then. Keith’s brow crinkles. 

Unable to contain his enthusiasm, Shiro says, “It’s a hoverbike!” 

Keith makes a soft sound of understanding. Shiro’s told him of hoverbike racing, has challenged Keith to beat him on one, in fact. He looks to Shiro, eyes blinking wide. 

Shiro grins. “It’s no Galra Viper, but it’s definitely faster than an Altean Nuuskob!” He doesn’t wait for Keith to respond before he hops up onto it and holds his hand out to Keith. “Want to ride with me, baby?” 

An absurd question. Keith’s already reaching for Shiro’s hand before he finishes the question, letting his husband haul him upward. He drapes against his back— one of his favorite positions, truly— and curls his arms obediently around Shiro’s middle. He cuddles up close, nuzzling his neck indulgently. 

“But don’t distract me,” Shiro laughs, but turns his head to glance a kiss over whatever part of Keith he can reach. He gets his forehead. Then Shiro turns back and flicks the bike to life, revving the engine and getting her to purr. 

“You waste no time,” Keith laughs. 

Shiro laughs again and guns the engine. They zip out of the hangar and out into the open air. Keith has no choice but to hang on. He lets out a delighted whoop and squeezes Shiro tight, feeling the pulse and pull of his mate’s body as they move in tandem, turning into the movements of the hoverbike— when the hoverbike lists to turn, both Keith and Shiro drift with it. It feels fluid, like breathing. 

Keith tries to appreciate all the sights around him, but it goes by too fast for him to really register what he’s seeing. Lots of sand, endless desert— mountains in the distance and a bright yellow sun. Blue sky and clouds. The air’s dry, he thinks, just the slightest bite as it chips at his cheeks. 

Shiro is a warm, solid line against him. Centering, as he always is. Keith feels safe holding him. He hears Shiro laugh as they drift through sharp turns, following canyon walls. Sand kicks up around them, the wind roaring, and Keith feels free. 

As far as an introduction to Earth goes, Keith can’t think of anything better. 

Deep into the foothills, after darting through canyons and up swells of land, Shiro finally cuts the engine. The sun is hanging low in the sky, splashing the blue with deep oranges and reds. The air feels cooler now and it just makes Keith burrow closer towards Shiro. 

And then the thought occurs to him: “ _You’ve brought me to the mountains at sunset._ ” 

Shiro grins. “Surprise!” 

Keith chuffs a laugh, shoving his face into Shiro’s shoulder, overwhelmed with the burst of affection that explodes within him. His under-voice is saccharine sweet, thrumming only for Shiro. 

Shiro’s hands on him are gentle, sweeping up and down his back. 

“So, what do you think?” Shiro asks, pulling back enough so Keith can look over the horizon and the surrounding landscape. 

Keith lets himself look, really look. 

“It looks like Daibazaal,” Keith confesses— all the endless empty space, no water in sight. Nothing like Altea. He feels Shiro’s hand holding his and it’s centering and familiar, the pull in his body orbiting him around his mate. He knows Shiro doesn’t have the pull, but Shiro’s smile is just for him all the same.

“Yeah? I hope you’re not disappointed… I know it looks greener from space.” 

Keith shakes his head, squeezing Shiro’s hand. “It is your home. It is…” His throat closes slightly when he says, “It is my father’s home.” 

Shiro kisses his temple and steps away enough to tug open a compartment in the hoverbike. He pulls out a blanket and releases Keith’s hand only long enough to flap it out and set it on the ground. Then he tugs Keith down to sit beside him.

This time, it’s Shiro who spoons himself against Keith’s back, bracketing Keith’s body with his thighs as they sit together. Keith leans back against Shiro’s chest. 

Keith gazes out at the distant mountains, the long expanse of desert. He understands why his father would have loved Daibazaal’s heat if this is the land he came from. 

His heart aches for his father. Long gone now. It feels strange to walk on the ancestral land of half his blood— the people he’s never really known but belongs to. 

Shiro often traces his fingers along Keith’s knee. Shiro told him once that its shape is very human. Keith hadn’t really known what to say to that, but he’d like the way Shiro’s thumb looked swiping across Keith’s knee. 

He does that now, too, his hand cupping Keith’s knee easily. It’s a casual touch, but just like with any touch from Shiro, it serves to relax Keith. He melts back against his husband’s chest, staring out at the horizon, memorizing all the ways it feels foreign and yet achingly familiar. 

They sit in the quiet, watching the sun sink beyond the mountains. Keith loves this part— how it’s truly universal: on any planet, he can watch the sun sink away and the stars come out. Sometimes it’s simpler, sometimes it’s obscured. There are planets where he can see the stars regardless of the time. Other planets where you have to squint to see. 

In this, too, Earth is like Daibazaal: the stars come out in a slow unfurling, the deepening of the darkened sky. The world above them is an endless, star-soaked sky and Keith feels stunned by the beauty of it. 

He recognizes none of the stars and it’s thrilling— nothing like Daibazaal’s sky, aside from the knowledge that there is so much more beyond just them. 

“ _Beautiful,_ ” Keith says. 

Shiro squeezes his knee. “It is.” 

_I love the stars,_ Shiro told him once. It was one of the first things Shiro ever told him. At the time, it’d shocked Keith to hear the term love used so casually— had felt shocked to hear his new husband say the word to him, even if not at him.

But Keith knows it’s true. His mate loves the stars. 

When he glances at Shiro, chin hooked over Keith’s shoulder, his eyes are on the stars, too. He’s smiling, looking delighted to have shared this with Keith. 

“If we wait long enough, we might see some falling stars,” Shiro says. 

“Stars do not fall.” Keith’s brow crinkles. He twists around to look at Shiro better, studying his face in the dark. “ _What do you mean?_ ” 

Shiro chuckles, his fingertips lifting to brush back the hair from Keith’s face. Just a casual touch for the sake of touch. It makes Keith feel warm, a rattle licking through his chest and his under-voice calling to Shiro. 

Shiro’s fingers slide further back, curling at the base of his neck. It will inevitably knock some of Keith’s braid loose. Keith hardly mourns the thought.

“… I don’t know how to say meteors,” Shiro says after a moment. He clears his throat. “ _When rocks fall into the…_ ” His brow crinkles. “Atmosphere? Or… _When rocks fall from the sky, they burn. We call them_ shooting stars or falling stars.” 

Keith listens, processing the words. “ _Boj’vaán._ ” 

Shiro nods, brightening. “ _Boj’vaán._ ” 

“It means… battle-worn sky,” Keith says. “They are… the sparks of a blade upon a blade.” 

Above Shiro’s head, Keith watches one such _boj’vaán_ , a falling star shooting across the sky and disappearing just as it appeared. Keith makes the tiniest trill of surprise. 

“Saw one?” Shiro asks. 

Keith nods. “They do look like they fall.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “You’re supposed to make a wish.” 

Keith puzzles over this. “Humans wish on many things.” 

“We’re very hopeful,” Shiro says, teasing. He leans in to kiss Keith, although Keith can’t fathom the reason why— but he’ll hardly refuse a kiss in turn. Shiro sighs against his lips, his smile obvious when he draws back to look at Keith. 

“… What do you wish for?” Keith asks. It seems as good an opportunity as any to determine what gifts will be best to give his mate for his quintant-name. 

Shiro’s mouth quirks up at the corner and he laughs. “It’s bad luck to say what your wish is. Then it won’t come true.” 

Keith stares at him, his under-voice flat and confused. His expression makes Shiro laugh, his hand shifting to cup Keith’s cheek. Helpless against the touch, Keith presses down against it, tilting his head and letting out a small grumble of confusion. 

“ _It’s a Human belief,_ ” Shiro says. “A superstition. _If we say our wish, it won’t come true._ ” 

“ _Humans thrive on miscommunication,_ ” Keith mutters darkly. How much of Shiro’s implicitness is a consequence of his Terran culture? Keith never considered it before, has only done his best to figure out what Shiro needs when he has no under-voice or body language to guide him, much less explicitly stated words. 

Shiro runs his free hand along Keith’s side, stroking along his flank, his fingertips keying over his ribs. It’s a teasing touch, but centering. Keith frowns at him all the same. 

Shiro flops backwards and pulls Keith with him so they’re sprawled out on the sand, staring up at the sky. Keith makes a soft sound as he lands on Shiro’s chest and then rolls off him, tucking into his side and resting his head above his heart. He feels the familiar thud of Shiro’s heartbeat, the rise and fall of his breathing, and lets it ground him. 

He strokes his fingertips along the folding edges of his Galran over-vest. He’d half-expected Shiro to change back into Terran-style clothes upon reaching Earth, but it seems he’s taken to the Marmoran sensibilities instead. 

“Make a wish, Keith,” Shiro says, eyes up on the sky— a few more shooting stars darting across the sphere. 

Keith sighs and nuzzles closer, closing his eyes. If he were one for wishes, it would simply be what he always desires: Shiro to be happy. 

“There’s no need to wish on something that burns,” Keith says. “There’s no purpose. Better to wish on the stories in your skies.” 

“The constellations?” Shiro asks and Keith hums his agreement. Shiro considers, then laughs as he watches the falling stars. “Maybe I should buy you a book of Earth constellations to match my Daibazaal constellations.” 

Keith wants to protest. It is his husband’s quintant-name, not Keith’s. But that would ruin the surprise. Hunk did emphasize how important surprises are for Terran quintant-names. 

At times like these, Keith is almost grateful that Shiro can’t hear his under-voice. It’d give him away entirely when he says, “I have no need of books. You will teach me, husband.” 

It makes Shiro laugh, though. He rolls over, blocking the stars from Keith’s view. That’s fine, as Keith likes looking up into Shiro’s eyes. His eyes are beautiful. Keith’s always thought so. 

“ _I love you,_ ” Keith murmurs, just because he can say it. 

“ _I love you, too,_ ” Shiro says. Even with his expected accent and mispronunciation, Keith feels like he’s glowing. His rattle kicks up in his chest, the low murmuring purr. It makes Shiro’s expression melt. “ _You’re happy?_ ” 

“Yes,” Keith says. 

“Good,” Shiro whispers and ducks down to kiss him. 

-

Shiro kisses Keith awake the next morning, a seemingly relentless flurry of kisses across his cheeks. Keith grunts and pushes him away and burrows beneath the blankets, cuddling into Shiro’s chest. 

“ _No,_ ” he grumbles. 

“It’s rare for me to wake up before you,” Shiro says, laughing, and nuzzles into Keith’s hair. “Baby, wake up…” 

Keith paws at Shiro and tugs him in closer, trying to coax him to lie beside him instead. “ _We sleep._ ” 

“ _We go,_ ” Shiro sings, nudging his nose against Keith’s cheek, kissing his jaw. “Come on, I have a surprise for you.” 

Another pitter of distress twists Keith’s heart, waking him fully. Once again, it is Shiro who gives the surprises and gifts to Keith, when it should be him doing so instead. He hooks his arms around Shiro’s shoulders, mumbling his name, his under-voice kicking up his distress at the notion of it.

Shiro’s quintant-name is tomorrow, if Keith is reading the Terran calendar correctly. And Keith has done nothing to prepare any lavish celebration or honoring that his mate deserves. 

Shiro presses kiss after kiss against Keith’s mating mark, nuzzling at his neck, covering Keith in his scent. It makes Keith relax marginally, his shoulders drooping. 

“Baby,” Shiro coos, kissing the underside of his chin, his soft lips tracing across the velvet-softness of Keith’s fur. 

“Calling me an infant will not wake me up,” Keith grumbles, no harshness to his words. He grabs Shiro by his chin and drags him in properly, kissing him sweetly. Shiro sighs and presses to him, kissing him back. He knows that if Shiro had the ability to purr, he’d be doing so. 

Shiro’s eyes are twinkling when he draws back, amused by Keith’s joke. It is, as Shiro’s called it, one of their _inside jokes._

It takes a few more kisses— and the sure slide of one of Shiro’s clever hands— before Keith deigns to wake properly, panting into Shiro’s mouth as he wakes all parts of him. 

By the time Keith’s tugged from bed, it’s mid-morning, and Shiro looks transcendent in the sweet morning light— beautiful and handsome, his eyes warm and his hands warmer against Keith’s skin. 

He helps Keith dress for the day and combs his hair, tying the red ribbon off at the end as always. The braid’s still sloppy, but with each passing day Shiro grows better at it. In the meantime, just as with his language acquisition, Keith’s grateful that Shiro will let himself be imperfect with Keith. 

Shiro takes his hand as they set out for the day, only humming when Keith asks him where they’re going. 

“It’s a surprise,” he says. 

Keith feels that same spike of anxiety within him at the reminder. He hasn’t gotten Shiro any sort of surprise or gift. 

The surprise, as it turns out, is a house for fish. 

“An aquarium,” Shiro reminds him when he calls it as such. 

Daibazaal’s water lurks beneath its surface, and while he’s gotten used to the concept of Altean rivers and its slumberfish, he is absolutely startled to walk into a building and be met with a contained wall of water, countless myriads of creatures flitting within. 

He makes a sound, his ears quirking upright as he stares at the fish with wide eyes. It makes Shiro laugh, which keeps Keith from being truly alarmed, but he can’t deny that it’s simply a lot of water. 

“I wanted you to see what Earth really has to offer,” Shiro says. “Since you don’t have oceans on Daibazaal.” 

Keith creeps forward and pushes his face against the glass— so thin, hardly strong enough to hold back so much water, certainly— and stares inward towards the fish. They do not make eye contact and flit about without acknowledging him. Not that Keith expected a non-sentient creature to do so, but it’s still perplexing to watch swarms of fish existing within their own realm, a realm separate even from Shiro. 

Not that Daibazaal isn’t without its own ecosystems separate from one another— but it’s strange to imagine the fish cannot live where they themselves stand just as much as Shiro and Keith could not survive within the water. 

Keith isn’t afraid of water. He just finds it strange. 

He makes an inquiring trill, his under-voice thrumming, as he watches the larger fish weave through massive blocks of underwater rock— coral, Shiro tells him, and not a rock but another creature— and watches their movements with widened eyes, his ears flicking back and forth. 

When he peels his eyes away, Shiro’s looking at him with undisguised fondness— his smile soft and his eyes even softer. 

“Do not call me ‘cat,’” Keith warns. Keith has no familiarity with the Terran cat, but he knows Shiro likes to call him such jokingly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, baby,” Shiro says, which just makes Keith think that Shiro literally dreams he’s a cat sometimes. Or it’s another Terran idiom. Keith grumbles low in his throat. Shiro pauses, waiting, and then prompts, “What do you think?” 

Keith recognizes the smile for what it is— warm and loving, as Shiro is in so many things. But that hint in his eyes that means shyness. Keith’s begun the long cataloging of all of Shiro’s expressions, memorizing what each one means so he’ll never misinterpret him again. His ridiculous, implicit mate— unable to simply ask what he wants to ask. 

“I like it,” Keith says. “Yes.”

Shiro beams. He tugs on Keith’s hand. “Come on, there’s so much more to see—” 

Each new room Shiro brings him to offers new walls of fish and creatures within. Keith listens to Shiro’s explanations, catching only half the words, his eyes following one fish after another. He feels on hyper-alert, perplexed by their seemingly endless, random movements, and wanting to keep watch on wherever they go. 

He hears Shiro laugh a couple of times, watching him do this, and once again he wonders just how apparently cat-like he is being. It makes Keith flush purple-red to know that he’s amusing his husband, and that his husband finds him cute. He’s still not used to that. 

Keith likes the seastars best. They cling to the rocks, although they look nothing like stars. The anemones, as Shiro calls them, look much more star-like with the way they roil and tumble, just like the fusion of a massive star. Shiro chuckles when Keith explains as much but doesn’t elaborate on why he finds the statement amusing. 

“Your life of the sea is very large,” Keith says. 

“Just wait until you see whales,” Shiro says. “Not that they have those here.” 

He does show Keith the sharks— smaller ones, Shiro says— but they glide across the bottom of the tank, their fins tilting back and forth. They remind Keith of the _zralok_ on Daibazaal, massive land creatures with sharpened teeth. He hums curiously as he follows one of the larger ones along the bottom of the tank, eyes watching its trajectory. 

The entire time, Keith’s aware of how closely Shiro watches him rather than the creatures in the tanks. Keith doesn’t mind— he likes to have Shiro’s eyes on him, even if it makes him embarrassed. His under-voice rattles for the attention and even though Shiro can’t hear it, it’s as if he responds to it, squeezing Keith’s hand, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, keeping him close to his side. 

Keith hears one of the other Humans in the room whisper, watching Keith follow the curve of a tank to regard what Shiro calls an octopus, and he can feel the eyes of others upon him. It doesn’t cause him anxiety, but he is aware of himself— most Humans will have never seen a Galra before, even if they have seen other aliens such as the Alteans. 

Keith refuses to be anxious about it. 

Especially when Shiro presses an absent kiss to Keith’s palm, then slips down to lick a wet stripe across Keith’s wrist. His mate has an uncanny ability to know when Keith is feeling tense and to lessen that tension for him. 

He’s a good man. And Keith should be doing more for him. 

He thinks it as he watches the dance of a lionfish in its tank, all its pointy ends and the unfurl of fins leaving Keith feeling strangely hungry. 

Shiro is his mate. He made a commitment to Shiro the moment he chose him as _v’veivak_. It is not desire, but instinct that fuels him forward. It is not simply the need to protect and provide for his mate, but the intrinsic need of the _vrínt liisva_. Keith needs to do more and his body is rebelling against his failure. 

It twists and coils inside him. Failure. He is failing his mate. 

He looks away from the lionfish to frown at Shiro. Shiro tilts his head, humming in question, unable to interpret why Keith must be looking so unhappy. Keith can’t quite pinpoint the reason himself, either. All he knows is that his body writhes with failure, his under-voice mourning that which he’s failed to do. 

“Do you like the lionfish?” Shiro asks, as if to ask _do you like me?_

“I do,” Keith says and presses a kiss to Shiro’s scent spot, lapping absently at the tendons of his wrist. He hears a whisper behind them, his ears swiveling back to hear a low disagreeing murmur from a Human that Keith can’t interpret. 

It does not matter. Shiro is all that matters.

Shiro, who pulls Keith in. Shiro, who presses a kiss to his forehead, and then bumps his lips up against his ear to murmur, “Wish I could touch your hair.” 

It makes Keith flush. For Humans, it would mean nothing, but to Keith it floods through him. He wants, suddenly, for Shiro to touch him. Every inch of him. 

“ _You are absurd,_ ” Keith tells him and it makes Shiro laugh. It warms Keith from the inside out to hear it, letting it wrap around him and comfort him. 

-

Shiro shows him every inch of the aquarium, each room with more elaborate fish than the next. His favorite, he tells Keith, is the massive tunnel they pass through, surrounded on all sides by endless iridescent fish, all shiny scales and glittering fins. There are sharks and octopi, starfish and coral, every kind of fish swimming together in the massive tank. 

Keith watches it all, impressed by the tenacity of Terrans— not just Humans but all other Terrans that exist upon its planet. 

He might be a little open-mouthed and wide-eyed staring at it all. But it’s a sight to behold. Keith’s already wondering if there are equivalents he might show Shiro on Daibazaal— what he could offer his husband that would steal his breath away just as the aquarium has Keith’s. 

Shiro points out each fish and names them, but Keith only hears some of the names, unconcerned or uninterested in learning them all. He lets them wash over him, all these words he might one day know, but not today. It’s strange to hear the sound of his husband’s voice almost objectively— to hear every sweet cadence, every hushing whisper, every sigh and click of his throat, but not to comprehend the words themselves. 

Shiro’s voice is beautiful. Just like everything else about him, Keith thinks. Of course even the silky smoothness of his voice would reach Keith, warm and comforting in the simplest of ways. Keith never wants to get used to the sound of Shiro’s voice, to the way he says Keith’s name. 

Like now. “Keith,” Shiro says. “Are you hungry? We can get lunch.” 

They’ve been at the aquarium for vargas. They’ve seen every shape of it. Not just fish, but creatures that Shiro calls otters and seabirds, each in their own rooms and their own containment. 

Keith nods his head. “Wherever you wish to go, husband.” 

Shiro chuckles, taking his hand and leading him out. They walk a few streets down from the aquarium before Shiro tugs Keith to a vendor standing at a cart. 

“Okay, next surprise,” Shiro says after he places an order at the window, the Human standing there withdrawing to prepare the food Shiro ordered. 

Keith makes a soft, inquisitive sound. 

He needn’t wait long: the food is ready quickly, heaping piles of shredded food within a paper container. Shiro thanks the woman at the window and gestures towards a sitting area near the food cart, letting Keith pick his spot before setting the food down.

It smells nice, although Keith can’t place the smell. Last night, he’d had what Shiro calls a sandwich for dinner, but it’s clear this is no sandwich. 

“Try it,” Shiro urges and then waits. 

Keith does so, lifting a forkful of food to his mouth and chewing. He chirps in surprise at the taste, familiar and yet foreign. “Wh—” 

“It’s mesquite,” Shiro says, grinning. “Mesquite barbeque, just like your dad likes. Does it taste like the lizards on Daibazaal?” 

Keith stares at Shiro, startled, and feels the flood of warmth rising within him as the words translate— as he realizes what Shiro’s telling him. 

“ _You remembered,_ ” Keith says. 

“ _Of course I remembered,_ ” Shiro says back, his grin softening into something fond and boyish. Sweet. His husband is sweet, unbearably sweet. 

Sometimes, it makes Keith ache to know that Shiro doesn’t even realize how kind he is. 

Keith ducks his head to hide his smile, his ears flicking around. He’s sure Shiro can read him well enough that his pleasure is evident. His under-voice sounds so loud to his own ears. 

“It does,” he says. “It tastes like _Vrantiperzabals_.” 

“I’ve planned on bringing you here ever since you told me that,” Shiro admits, laughing. “It’s a good thing we decided to do this stop-over on Earth, huh?” 

Keith shakes his head, eating more food so he doesn’t have to answer that. Too many gifts, Keith thinks— Shiro gives so much, too much, and yet Keith has given him so very little in return. 

Instead, the gift Keith will give his mate is a lifetime of loneliness on Daibazaal. He knows the pain Shiro has gone through because of the Galra— the scar on his face is testament to that— and he knows how his father missed Earth. He knows they will be able to visit Earth, but it will not be the same. 

He’s terrified of going to Daibazaal. He hadn’t realized how much so until they’d set out on their journey. 

“Okay, so, what you’re trying is chicken,” Shiro explains. “And I got jackfruit for myself, if you want to try that next.”

Keith watches Shiro, all his happiness, and feels his ears droop. 

He watches the smile on Shiro’s face fade. “Do you not like it?” 

“I like it,” Keith murmurs, whipping his hand out to grab Shiro’s, threading their fingers together. He swallows, his under-voice thrumming. “I love _you_.” 

“Baby,” Shiro murmurs, his smile returning. 

Then Shiro stands, rounding the table and sitting on the bench beside Keith. He tips Keith’s chin up and kisses him, and it’s nearly enough to soothe away the anxiety swirling within Keith. He sniffles and kisses him again. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Shiro says, swiping his thumb over Keith’s velvet-soft cheek. “I didn’t realize this would make you cry.”

“I’m not,” Keith mumbles, embarrassed, and shoves his forehead against Shiro’s. It’s more bump than gentle press but Shiro doesn’t seem to mind. He nuzzles forward, nose brushing against Keith’s. “You are… kind. Shiro, you are… too kind.”

Shiro laughs like it’s a joke, dismissive as he is in all things. He cups Keith’s face with both hands now, pressing a smattering of kisses to Keith’s parted lips, punctuating each of Keith’s hitching breaths with the softest kiss.

“You make me kind,” Shiro tells him, which isn’t true at all. Shiro was always kind— always far too kind. 

-

When they return to their hotel room for the evening, Keith sends a desperate message to Allura, asking what could possibly connote ‘pampering’ to a Terran.

Which leaves Keith in the bathroom, staring down at the porcelain tub. He has very little time. Shiro’s gone downstairs to the hotel’s restaurant to grab their dinner for the evening. He promised to bring Keith anything with jackfruit, as Keith nearly inhaled all of Shiro’s during lunch. Turns out, he really likes this strange shredded fruit. 

Keith flips the faucets on and a gush of water splashes into the tub. Keith’s ears pin back against his skull. 

Well. Allura did say that this was the way Humans wish to be pampered. He knows how fond and relaxed his husband always looked, floating in the purple water of Altea, letting himself bob on the surface of the river, buoyed just by the touch of Keith’s hand, the only thing keeping him from drifting away on the current. 

Keith takes a deep breath and shoves his hand under the flowing water to test the temperature. Warm enough, he thinks, although it occurs to him that he isn’t sure what Shiro’s preference might be. Shiro never seemed uncomfortable in the warm river waters on Altea, in _their_ spot, so Keith opts for a similar temperature. 

_Bubbles,_ Allura had told him. He eyes the liquid soap and upends a hefty amount into the water until it froths up. 

Keith really can’t see the appeal. 

He waits until the bubbles come close to tipping over the edge of the bathtub before shutting off the water. He waits, his arms folded, staring into the water. 

A few doboshes later, he hears the lock flip on the door as Shiro enters. 

“Keith! I have food,” he calls. “They had jackfruit!” 

Keith sticks his head out of the bathroom and says, “Come here.” 

Shiro pauses, holding two plates of food, and lifts his eyebrows. “You’re not hungry?” 

“Shiro,” Keith says with only the deepest seriousness he can summon. “Come here.” 

Shiro sets down the plates, going to him. “Is something wr—” 

Keith snatches him by the wrist and tugs him inside, turning Shiro to regard his hard work. 

“For you,” Keith says. It’s hardly a gift befitting his mate, but it is a start. If Keith could, he’d lavish his husband in gifts fit for a clan leader, for an emperor, for a god. 

A bubble bath, as Allura calls it, will have to do. 

Shiro, for his part, looks delighted. “What’s this?” 

“I… created a bath,” Keith says. 

“But you hate baths,” Shiro says and grins.

“I do not,” Keith says, ears quirking back. “I bathe.” 

“I know, baby.” 

“ _It is for you, regardless,_ ” Keith says. He gestures towards the water. “ _Be pampered, husband._ ” 

Shiro gestures towards his ear, a sign he missed something Keith said. Likely _pampered_ , because of course Shiro wouldn’t have that in his vocabulary, especially when applied towards himself. Keith sniffs and plucks at Shiro’s Galran over-vest. 

“Undress,” he commands. 

Shiro grins, his eyes sparkling. “Keith, at least let me buy you dinner first.” 

“You already did,” Keith says, deadpan. Shiro laughs. Keith must have missed the joke. 

Shiro lets Keith strip him down all the same. Keith has a mission, otherwise he’d linger to appreciate every delicious, naked inch of Shiro’s body. All the same, he indulges himself in sliding his fingertips down his chest, letting his claws kiss across his skin. He likes it when Shiro shivers.

Shiro’s big hands slot over Keith’s hips. “Hey…” 

Keith knows that tone well. 

“No,” Keith says, determined. “No sex.” 

Shiro barks a surprised laugh. “Yes, sir! I’ll be good.” 

Keith rolls his eyes— a purely Human gesture— and fights back his smile when Shiro laughs again. He maintains his neutral expression and lets all his amusement seep into his under-voice. Shiro can’t hear it, so it’s just as well, his under-voice a chirping hiccup to Keith’s ears alone. 

Keith kneels to tug down Shiro’s trousers, fingertips sliding over his thighs. Shiro makes that sound he always makes when Keith’s on his knees before him and Keith lets himself smirk up at Shiro. He can tease, too. 

“Husband,” Keith says, admonishing. 

“Yes, yes, no sex,” Shiro sighs. All the same, his fingers sink back into Keith’s hair, blatantly tugging it free from its braid. “You tease.” 

“Yes,” Keith says. “I do.” 

Once fully naked, Keith crowds Shiro towards the bath. Shiro lets himself be corralled, clearly amused but willing to indulge. Keith gestures to the water and Shiro cautiously sticks his foot in to test the temperature. 

Keith stares at Shiro’s ass just because he can. The perks of being married. 

Shiro sighs as he sinks beneath the water, the suds sloshing up against his shoulders. Keith delights in that expression that crosses Shiro’s face— content and pleased. He sinks into the water, smiling, eyes closing from the feeling of the water. 

He sits like that in the tub, knees folded up, before he pops one eye open again to give Keith a wry look. 

“So… you’re just buttering me up, then?”

Keith stares blankly, attempting to translate the words. Another Terran saying, it seems. Keith’s starting to suspect that Shiro does it on purpose just to ‘make fun’ of Keith (as he calls it), or because Keith’s face scrunches up as he attempts to parse the language. Shiro probably thinks it’s cute.

“I do not butter you,” he says flatly, his under-voice a curving, lacing fondness that betrays him, and Shiro laughs. 

“Real buttering up would be if you joined me,” Shiro agrees. 

Keith eyes the water and the size of the tub. Shiro’s knees are bent up to accommodate his size. Keith can’t fathom that he’d actually fit. It’d be nothing like floating in the zyo-crystal water on Altea. 

Shiro pats the surface of the water as if inviting Keith to sit. It splashes a little. 

“To butter is good?” Keith asks. 

“I love to be buttered,” Shiro says and winks. 

Keith eyes his husband and then sighs, standing. “I will sit in your lap.”

Shiro makes a pleased choking sound that tapers off into something more delighted as Keith strips off his clothes. 

Keith likes the way Shiro’s eyes rest on him as he strips. He slows the movements down, taking his time as he slides off one layer at a time. He rolls his hips, exposing each stripe across his fur in slow intervals. He tilts his head and rattles at Shiro, who hums his appreciation, eyes dragging over Keith’s body. 

But even once he’s naked, he does not go to Shiro. He lets Shiro look, tracing over his body. Keith combs his fingers through his hair, unraveling his braid and letting his hair fall in a wild wave around him. He curls up the red ribbon and sets it down gently on the counter, so it won’t get lost or wet. 

“Wow… you’re just— so pretty,” Shiro sighs. 

Keith scoffs and holds out his hand to Shiro. 

Obediently, Shiro reaches to take Keith’s hand and helps balance him as he steps gingerly forward. Terran tiles are, thankfully, not as slippery as Altean tiles, but Keith still fears the fur on the bottom of his feet will cause him to slip. He manages to step into the tub and once he gets his footing, he sinks into Shiro’s lap, thighs bracketing Shiro’s. He faces his husband, draping his arms over Shiro’s shoulders. 

Shiro’s hands are sure and warm as they slide up Keith’s back. Keith lets his rattle kick up in his chest, uninhibited, and presses closer. He drapes himself over Shiro, letting himself relax despite the insistent popping of bubbles on his skin, the oily slide of water across his body. 

“Are you enjoying your bath?” 

“I’m enjoying the company,” Shiro jokes, but upon seeing Keith’s crestfallen face, adds, “And the bath, too. This is good, Keith.” 

“I hear your words,” Keith says in a murmur. 

“No, thank you,” Shiro insists and tugs playfully on Keith’s hair. “What’s brought this on?”

Keith crinkles his brow as he tries to understand. 

“ _Why did you want to do this?_ ” Shiro corrects. 

“Can I not do something good for you?” Keith asks, stroking his fingers over Shiro’s face, tracing the line of his jaw, the bow of his lips. He feels Shiro’s mouth quirk up into a smile. Keith looks down at the bubbles pooling between them, obscuring their bodies beneath the water. “What do we do in a bath?” 

“Bathe?” Shiro asks. 

Keith is thoroughly unimpressed by this assessment. 

“And relax,” Shiro says after a moment of thought. 

Keith considers his options and his best line of approach. He regards Shiro’s face, studying him. Shiro smiles back at him, slumping down in the water a little and lounging. He takes Keith with him, coiling his arms around him and tugging him close, letting Keith press against his chest.

Shiro’s hand slides up Keith’s back and into his hair, fingers and thumb circling against his scalp. It’s blissful, and even if Keith wanted to, he couldn’t hold back his rattle. It rumbles through his chest, vibrating into his throat. It seems to relax Shiro in turn, his smile turning lazy and sweet. 

He keeps rubbing at Keith’s scalp, at the spot just behind his ears. It sends Keith’s blood singing, his entire body tingling with pleasure and comfort. He never would have guessed there would ever be a way in which another person’s hands on him could make him feel so happy. But, of course, he never stood a chance against Shiro. 

Shiro’s fingers slide over Keith’s scalp, along the furry edge of his ear, and then card back into his hair. He finger-combs through the full length of it, making Keith shiver. He plays with a piece of it, bringing it up to press a gentle kiss against it. 

Keith’s rattle flips louder in his chest and it makes Shiro grin. He presses another kiss higher up, working his way towards Keith’s jaw, where he presses a light series of kisses. When he finally kisses Keith on the mouth, it’s a struggle around both their stupid smiles. 

Keith dips in closer to lick Shiro’s mating mark, nuzzling and scenting across the column of his throat. Shiro hums sweetly beneath him, going boneless and relaxed in the water, gentle beneath Keith’s sure hands. He’s sure Shiro must feel the curve of Keith’s smile against his skin as he licks and mouths at the mating mark, feeling the mating pull coiled up peacefully within him.

Keith stays there even once Shiro smells like him. Shiro cards his fingers through Keith’s hair, seemingly content to lounge like this in the water. 

“Shiro?”

“Yeah, Keith?” 

“If I were to give you a gift,” Keith says slowly as he gives one last lick to the mark and draws back. “What would you wish for?” 

Shiro’s eyes must have closed as Keith scented him. Only once Keith draws back does Shiro blinks his eyes open, looking sleepy and curious. He hums thoughtfully, fingertips skimming over Keith’s cheek— petting him. 

“You’re the gift, sweetheart,” Shiro says, expression moony. 

Keith refuses to accept such a romantic answer. He shakes his head, mouth quirking into a thoughtful frown. “What gift would honor you?” 

Shiro tilts his head to the side, studying Keith. “I don’t need any gifts, Keith.” 

At this point, Keith can’t tell if Shiro’s being purposefully obstinate, that oblivious, or it’s somehow Terran tradition to not acknowledge one’s birthday. Keith squirms in that uncertainty, unsure how to ask the questions he needs to ask and not ruin any sort of surprise or important tradition. 

His expression must hide nothing. Shiro cups his cheek, thumb swiping absently. “Well… if you wanted to buy me something, I could use more socks?” 

Keith considers the romance of such a gift— the feet as the foundation of the body, to be warmed and protected. Yes, Keith decides, effectively romantic for his worthy mate. 

“I will give you socks,” Keith says, cupping Shiro’s face and sealing the promise with a kiss. 

Shiro licks at Keith’s mouth to deepen that kiss, effectively silencing Keith’s thoughts with the overwhelming thought of _Shiro._ It’s easy to sink into those thoughts, into the warmth of his hands on his warmed body, the surety of his husband’s presence. 

“So,” Shiro whispers, silky-smooth and unbearably sweet once they part, foreheads pressed together. Shiro stares into Keith’s eyes, smiling. “What do you think about bubble baths?” 

“I do not think of bubble baths at all,” Keith answers, even though he knows what Shiro means. He hums, rubbing his nose against Shiro’s. “I like you to be happy.” 

Shiro hums, bundling Keith’s hair into a messy knot at the back of his head, exposing his neck as he leans in to press a kiss first to his throat and then to his mating mark. 

“Know what else makes me happy?” 

“ _Me, I imagine,_ ” Keith says, laughing. 

“Yes,” Shiro says, laughing too as his hand darts beneath the surface of the water, tracing over Keith’s stomach and lower.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to the best boy in the universe! ♥ 
> 
> And thank you everyone for reading!

The next morning, Keith wakes before Shiro. It’s rare for Shiro to sleep through the night without waking and Keith’s loath to rouse him before he’s ready. Keith lingers in bed, tracing his eyes over Shiro’s face, sleep slackened and peaceful. 

Eventually, the itch to put it to paper is too much. Keith collects his sketchpad and sits on their bed, watching Shiro and drawing him as he sleeps. It’s a quick sketch, more gesturing than anything else, his pencil too dull for finer detail. But at this point, he’s an expert in drawing Shiro: his sketchbook is full of portraits, doodles, and sketches of him. 

He struggles over doing justice to the fan of Shiro’s eyelashes across his cheekbones, but otherwise by the end of it, the picture looks like Shiro, asleep. 

His under-voice rattles happily, gazing down at the portrait. 

He wonders if it will always feel this way. He wonders if his chest will always feel so bright, looking at his sleeping husband. He wonders if Shiro will always wake to Keith and be happy, smiling up at him with those soft eyes. He wonders if that will be the case even on Daibazaal, surrounded by reminders of his captivity and pain, surrounded by people who are not Shiro’s own. 

Keith pauses in a sketch of a seastar floating around the sleeping Shiro’s head and feels his ears droop. 

He looks at Shiro, breathing deeply, and reaches out his fingertips to brush along his jaw. Shiro doesn’t wake, but he does shift, murmuring Keith’s name as he moves closer. 

“ _Sleep,_ ” Keith whispers and Shiro obeys, dropping back into dreams. 

By the time Shiro does wake properly, Keith’s drawn two more sketches of him and a full page of the fish he can remember from the aquarium yesterday. He’s focused on the current page— Shiro in profile, looking into a tank with a fond smile, a lionfish on the other side. The lionfish is too big, Keith thinks, but he believes he’s gotten the quills correct. 

When he looks up from the page, Shiro is watching him, face smushed into the pillow. Keith lets loose a trill of surprise before he can swallow it down. 

“Good morning,” Shiro says, voice sleep-warm and fuzzy at the edges. 

Keith sets aside his drawing supplies to duck down and kiss Shiro in greeting. His rattle coils in his chest and he indulges the sound, letting it get louder when Shiro’s hand strays to press against Keith’s bare chest in answer, feeling those vibrations. 

“What do you wish for on this quintant?” Keith asks. _Today_ is Shiro’s birthday. 

Keith waits for Shiro to say as much. 

He doesn’t, though, yawning and rubbing his jaw. He sits up, adjusting the blanket so it’s still covering him to fight off the morning chill in their room and snuffles closer, nuzzling at Keith’s shoulder, lips gliding over the soft fuzz of Keith’s fur. 

“I have some meetings with the Terran higher-ups,” Shiro says. “And have to meet with Universal Immigration to…” He pauses as he attempts to simplify the language to explain what the meeting will cover. He apparently gives up with a shake of his head and a kiss to Keith’s cheek. “Anyway, I’ll be all sorted in time for us to go to Daibazaal.” 

Keith frowns, waiting still for some acknowledgement of the significance of the date. 

It doesn’t come. Instead, Shiro gestures towards Keith’s sketchpad. “Can I see?” 

Keith flips to the first page and presents the slumbering Shiro portrait for his inspection. Shiro looks pleased, face flushing a familiar pink. 

“You are handsome,” Keith tells him before Shiro can make a disparaging joke about himself. It makes Shiro turn pinker. 

“Come here,” Shiro mumbles, embarrassed but fighting a smile. He pushes Keith down into the mattress. 

-

Later, once they’ve dressed for the day and eaten breakfast, Shiro leaves Keith with a kiss to the forehead and the promise to return once he’s finished sorting everything with his UI meeting. 

Keith makes quick work of calling on Hunk as soon as Shiro is gone from the room. It brings Keith now to Hunk’s kitchen, watching him place ingredient after ingredient on the counter. 

“ _You have no idea how happy I am that you’re actually asking me for help on this,_ ” Hunk says. “ _Seriously. Cakes can go really, really badly if you don’t know what you’re doing._ ” 

“ _It will be ready before Shiro returns from his meetings?_ ” Keith asks. 

“ _Should be. I can also bring it by later, if you want._ ” At Keith’s displeased look, Hunk lets out a low whistle. “ _Or not. Got it. Only the husband gets to give the cake._ ” 

Keith insists on helping, but Hunk is something of a beast in the kitchen. He hovers whenever he gives Keith a task, quick to jump in to correct when Keith does it incorrectly. Or too slowly. Or not diligently enough. Or without proper technique or hand placement or whatever else Hunk finds wrong. He’s what Shiro would call a _mother hen_. 

And if it weren’t for Shiro’s sake, Keith would hiss at him to stay away. Instead, Keith tolerates Hunk clucking his tongue and taking the ‘sifter’ from Keith to crank the flour into a bowl for him. 

Still, they work speedily enough, which Keith is grateful for if only to have everything ready for Shiro once he returns to their hotel room. 

“ _What are your_ ‘birthday’ _traditions, Hunk?_ ” Keith asks as he takes a proffered spatula and obediently scrapes the sides of a bowl. 

“Oh!” Hunk says, surprised, and then hums in thought. His face gets all scrunched up as he considers. “ _It depends? I usually keep it simple and easy. Just dinner with my family, gifts, all that. If I go out with friends, we get drinks._ ” 

“ _What sort of gifts?_ ” Keith asks. “ _Socks?_ ” 

“What?” Hunk asks, laughing, slipping back into Terran. He clears his throat and corrects, “ _Please don’t tell me you’re getting Shiro socks._ ” 

“ _He asked for socks,_ ” Keith says, feeling defensive and shoving the spatula into the wet mixture. “ _Are socks not romantic?_ ” 

“Oh my god, Shiro,” Hunk groans to himself. “ _No, socks are the least romantic thing you could get a person._ ” 

So Keith’s assessment that socks represent a loving investment in one’s foundation was incorrect. Keith wilts a little, his ears clipping back against his skull. He pauses in his vigorous mixing, unprotesting when Hunk plucks the bowl from Keith and adds the flour himself. 

Keith feels empty, his hands grasping nothing. He is capable of so very little, it seems. 

“ _What should I get him? What is something worthy of a mate in your culture?_ ” 

“ _What do the Marmora do for quintant-names?_ ” Hunk asks. 

“ _We fight from dawn to dusk,_ ” Keith says. “ _We bring vanquished foes and representation of knowledge forged through battles._ ” 

If it were as simple as that, though. Keith would fight an entire Terran army for Shiro’s sake, if it would please Shiro. He would lay at his mate’s feet all the proof of Keith’s will to fight, each representation of a vanquished fight presented in ceremony. 

“Of course,” Hunk sighs. “ _Your Highness—_ ”

“You may call me Keith.” 

Hunk pauses, blinking. “ _Keith,_ ” he says, looking his traditional mix of terrified and delighted, “ _Terran quintant-names aren’t really like that._ ” 

“ _Princess Allura spoke of pampering._ ” 

“ _Yeah!_ ” Hunk agrees. “ _We just passed_ Valentine’s Day, _so you can find any number of things for him._ Roses, candies, lingerie…” 

“We have no such objects on Daibazaal,” Keith says flatly. “What are these objects?”

Hunk turns red, flushing up his neck and kissing his ears. “Oh. Uh. You know what? Maybe ask Shiro and not me about them…” Hunk looks away, looking entirely too flustered. “I know way too much about yours and Shiro’s sex life as it is.” 

Keith suspects that Hunk doesn’t realize that Keith understands what he just said. He lets it go if only because he does need Hunk’s help with this birthday cake and it won’t do to fluster him to the point of ineptitude. 

They finish creating the cake batter. Hunk pours the mixture into a new container and slips it within the oven. Keith squats down at the door to peer inside, watching the mixture bubble and begin to rise. _Baking_ , then, is like _pek’i_ , a _cake_ similar to the dish his mother makes for him on the eve of _Dupak_. 

He waits patiently, each passing tic testament to his devotion to Shiro. He will present this cake to Shiro as a symbol of his gratitude and love. It will be delicious and it will make Shiro smile. 

“You don’t— Ah, _you don’t have to be so worried about making Shiro happy, you know,_ ” Hunk says as Keith stares into the cake batter, watching it rise. He hears mixing behind him when he swivels his ear and suspects that Hunk is preparing what is called ‘frosting’. 

Keith makes an inquisitive sound, unwilling to look away from the oven window. If he looks away, the cake might burn. He can’t afford for anything to go wrong. 

“ _Shiro loves you. Everybody can see that,_ ” Hunk says. “ _He’ll be happy you were thinking of him._ ” 

“ _I think of him in every moment,_ ” Keith answers. He hears Hunk choke behind him and wonders if what he said is so shocking. It is, after all, the truth. 

Then again, Humans are not quite so blunt as the Galra. 

And it is the truth. Every moment, every breath, every beat of his heart is Shiro’s. Shiro is _v’veivak_.

The timer chirps from the counter, punctuating the silence that follows Keith’s statement. He steps aside to let Hunk fetch the cake. 

Keith takes a deep breath, the air nearly sickly-sweet with sugar. Keith can only hope it will please Shiro. 

-

Just as Shiro is scheduled to return to their room, his meetings complete, Keith sets the cake he (well, mostly Hunk) made upon the table. 

As is tradition, Keith sets the cake on fire. On the walk back to their hotel, Keith purchased a massive pillar candle, made of what the seller called beeswax. 

He holds the candle in his hand for a moment, weighing it, and then slams it right into the center of the cake. Frosting flies everywhere and the cake deflates into its center, but the candle stays upright. Contemplating and assessing his work, Keith regards the candle and then lights it on fire.

Upon reflection, he lights the frosting, as well. It singes beneath the match, attempting to spark and not managing it. Keith mourns the lack of oven within the hotel room. If there was one, perhaps he could coax the cake into burning, but the candle will have to do.

It takes another tic longer for him to debate the positioning of the socks and, finally, decides to drape it along the edge of the cake plate. There’s frosting on its fringe. 

Keith feels ridiculous for feeling nervous as Shiro shuts the door behind him, blinking in surprise at the burning candle splitting the cake in half. 

“Keith?” 

Shifting from foot to foot, Keith awaits Shiro’s assessment. Shiro does seem surprised— but less delighted and more bemused. He tilts his head as he approaches, eyes sweeping over the candle and then up to look at Keith.

“What’s going on?” 

Keith waits, unsure what the proper greeting should be, and settling for: “It is for you.” 

Shiro crosses the room towards Keith, eyes on him rather than the presentation of gifts before him. Keith feels himself wilt with each step, ashamed by the paltry offerings. If he were better at such traditions, he’d have lavish gifts to give to Shiro, just as Shiro deserves. Instead, all he has is a burning cake and a pair of socks. 

His under-voice is a low string of curling sadness, his ears flicking back to hide in his hair, pressed to his skull. 

Shiro’s smile dims as he watches the change come over Keith’s face. He makes a sound and reaches for Keith, his hand resting on his shoulder, his thumb ghosting across the slope of Keith’s neck. 

“Keith,” Shiro says. “What’s wrong?” 

Keith tips his chin down, staring at the flickering flame of the candle. “I wished to celebrate your quintant-name,” Keith says, and then grunts, his under-voice thrumming with his frustration. “Your birthday.” 

Shiro blinks. The hand on Keith’s shoulder shifts, sliding up his neck and cupping his jaw. “I didn’t tell you it was my birthday.”

“I am aware,” Keith says and knows he sounds sour. “Hunk told me.”

Shiro’s thumb swipes across Keith’s cheekbone. It shouldn’t be comforting, but it helps Keith keep his breathing even— just relying on the touch of it, the way Shiro stays close to him. 

“I’m surprised _he_ knew,” Shiro admits.

“Is it meant to be a secret?” Keith asks. “He told me of surprises… is it meant to be a surprise even to me? _It’s something to keep from me?_ ” 

He must sound more upset than he means because Shiro nearly cringes, his smile turning a little brittle. He slides his fingers back into Keith’s hair, cradling his head. His touch is soft, apologetic. 

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” Shiro says. “Honestly. I’m used to not celebrating it… I didn’t even realize.” 

“How is it possible to not remember your own quintant-name?” 

Shiro shakes his head. “I’m off-planet so often, I just… got used to not celebrating it. I never really pay attention to that.” 

Keith says nothing to that. He can understand the logic of it, although the truth sounds too sad to bear, to imagine a decaphoeb passing without ceremony, Shiro alone with no quintant to honor.

“I don’t…” Shiro pauses. “I have no idea how to explain this to you. My birthday is weird.” 

“It is Leap Day.” 

Shiro blinks and then lights up again, delighted that Keith knows as much. “Oh—” 

“Hunk told me,” Keith says. “Of your uneven Earth days. You… add new days.” 

“Not very practical, huh?” 

“ _I have long since learned you Humans enjoy being impractical and illogical_ ,” Keith says. 

Shiro steps closer, hand catching Keith’s. He tugs once and guides Keith away from the table with the burning column of a candle and the trifling gifts, guiding Keith instead towards the sitting area of their hotel room. He pulls Keith down to sit beside him on the couch. 

It seems that a birthday celebration is out of the question. Keith’s distress must still be clear on his face— he can certainly hear it in his under-voice— and Keith knows Shiro will do little else but comfort Keith when he’s so clearly unhappy. 

“I’m sorry, Keith,” Shiro says. “I didn’t even think you’d know about birthdays, or care. I don’t really care about mine.” 

Shiro often says such things— and Keith shouldn’t be surprised. As Princess Allura said: is it any surprise that Shiro should not mention the need to be pampered? It is no surprise to Keith that his husband should, as always, neglect himself in favor of others. 

It’s perfectly like Shiro to forget his quintant-name, to believe it unworthy of note or celebration. To pass the quintant without even knowing it is a quintant for his honor. 

“Humans place great importance on the day they are born,” Keith says. 

“Some, sure.” 

Shiro tangles their fingers together, lifting Keith’s hand to kiss his knuckles. It’s centering, but Keith refuses to be distracted or comforted, not when it’s a matter of providing for his mate. 

“You were born, not named, on Leap Day.” 

Shiro tilts his head, staring into Keith’s eyes. Keith can hardly resist the mating pull and so he meets his gaze. They look at one another, unblinking, refusing to part. Keith reaches his free hand out, pressing it to Shiro’s chest. He feels the beat of his heart beneath his palm. 

“I take it that on Daibazaal, names are more important than births?” Shiro asks. 

Keith shakes his head. “Both are. But we celebrate the quintant-name.” 

“I was born _and_ named on Leap Day,” Shiro says. “At least in my culture, babies are usually named right as they’re born. We don’t do separate ceremonies for it.” 

Keith nods, accepting the explanation. His fingers curl against Shiro’s chest. “It is rare to be born on this day.” 

“Chance of one in one thousand four hundred sixty-one… but who’s counting,” Shiro agrees. “I’m special.” 

He says it like it’s a joke and Keith recognizes the shape of this smile. Disbelieving and belittling. It is one of his mate’s few flaws— his unwillingness to honor himself. Keith growls low, ears flicking back, and he cups Shiro’s cheek. 

“You are special,” he says and hopes Shiro believes him. 

Shiro’s expression loosens at the edges and he cups Keith’s hand, turning his head to kiss the center of Keith’s palm. 

“ _I hear your words_ , Keith,” Shiro says, which Keith will always find absurd— his mate hardly needs to thank him for what is the truth. 

Shiro is special. Shiro is the universe. 

Unsure how exactly to express that, Keith grunts and moves in closer, stubbornly nuzzling up to Shiro’s neck and licking at the mating mark. He spends a lingering moment scenting Shiro, making sure he smells like Keith. 

Shiro hums, relaxing beneath Keith’s attention, his hands moving to cup along his back. 

“I’ve upset you,” Shiro says, his voice vibrating up his throat where Keith’s lips press to his skin. He turns his head, nose burying in Keith’s hair. 

Keith lingers further. He lets Shiro pull him in closer, his arms wrapping loosely around him to keep him tethered. It’s always profoundly comforting to press chest-to-chest with Shiro, and so he stays like that, taking deep breaths— letting his lungs fill with _Shiro_.

“I am upset,” Keith says, and adds quickly when Shiro tenses up, “but not of you.” 

“Tell me what’s wrong?” 

Keith inhales slowly and lets it back out again, sinking further against Shiro. “ _I haven’t given you a proper celebration._ ” 

“ _I don’t need that,_ ” Shiro answers. 

Keith shakes his head, his under-voice trilling its distress. He pulls back from Shiro to stare into his eyes again, imploring. “You deserve it.” 

“You made me a cake,” Shiro says, glancing over Keith’s shoulder. He smiles. “With a… very big candle.” 

“Is that not the proper candle?” 

Shiro shakes his head. “I love it.” 

Keith frowns. He ducks his head, anxiety curling in his chest. Shiro’s hands slide over him, touching him, soothing him. Keith does not want to be soothed. He catches Shiro’s hands, tangling their fingers together and keeping him pinned in place like that. 

“I do not know the traditional song,” Keith says solemnly. 

He wishes he could better recall how his father celebrated his own Terran birthday or if he had ever tried to celebrate Keith’s Terran birthday. He remembers the gifts, arriving well before Keith’s quintant-name. But he never made Keith a cake or sang to him.

Keith wonders if he has a birthday equivalent here on Earth. He could be able to calculate it with Shiro’s help, he thinks— figure out which absurd _month_ he was born in.

Shiro chuffs a soft laugh, disbelieving and sweet. “I’ll teach you the song, baby. I love your voice.” 

“Hunk tells me that socks are not romantic,” Keith says. 

“You got me socks?” Shiro asks, looking over towards the cake again and spotting the pair. 

“I wished to get you roses, chocolates, and lingerie as is tradition,” Keith says solemnly, watching Shiro’s cheeks turn pink, “but the Human of the shop said I did not have enough GAC.” 

“You—” Shiro’s face is red. He laughs. “ _Keith._ ” 

“I wished to provide for you,” Keith says. “As you deserve. As you should be celebrated.”

“Oh, baby,” Shiro sighs. He leans in, kissing Keith gently. It’s just a quick peck of his mouth to Keith’s, sweet and over too soon. “You do. Every day.” 

Keith shakes his head. “ _I failed to provide for you properly_.” 

“Keith,” Shiro says. “ _You made me a cake._ ”

“ _Hunk made the cake_.” 

“ _You bought me socks_.” 

“ _An uninspired gift_.” 

Shiro shakes his head, fighting back a smile. Keith desperately tells himself it’s a true smile, not a lie— that Shiro is not simply trying to make Keith feel better to hide his disappointment. 

“You gave me a bubble bath.” 

“ _That is no gift_.” Keith wilts. “ _You have limited time on your home planet before we leave._ I wanted to give you something good, to make you happy, to make you… to have your home.” 

“Keith. I’ve had fun on Earth,” Shiro says. “Because I was with you. _I’ve wanted…_ ” Shiro’s brow pinches as he concentrates. “ _I wanted to show you everything. Showing you Earth is a great gift because I’m with you._ ” 

Keith narrows his eyes at him, under-voice twisting with disagreement. 

“I don’t…” 

“It’s true, sweetheart.” Shiro’s smile is a small thing, his eyes shining. “I’m sorry this has bothered you so much. I’ve been having fun. I promise.” 

Keith is a prince of Marmora, a mighty and honored warrior. And Shiro makes him feel silly and foolish and sweet. When Shiro calls him by a beloved name, Keith feels that he is precious. It serves to make him feel less anxious, if for a moment. He bites his lip. 

“You could have done nothing and never talked about my birthday, and I’d have been happy anyway because we were together, Keith.” Shiro pets his fingers through Keith’s hair, knocking loose a few strings of his braid. “I just want to be with you. You know that.” 

Keith says nothing. Something warm and bright squirms to life in his chest— relief, perhaps, or longing. He isn’t sure. He whines low in his throat, high enough for Shiro to hear this time, and Shiro tugs him in.

He kisses Keith in a series of pecks again, comforting, his fingers twisted up in Keith’s braid. Keith’s a shivering mess, seeking his mate. When Shiro breaks the kiss, he presses their foreheads together, rubbing his nose against Keith’s. 

“Sweetheart.” He says it like it’s easy. For Shiro, maybe it is easy— and Keith’s never considered himself easy to love. 

“Shiro…” 

“Is this how the Galra celebrate their quintant-name? Providing for your mate?” 

Keith shakes his head. He shifts closer and Shiro tugs him in, smiling. 

“ _Every eve of our quintant-name, we are asked if we wish to renew our name,_ ” Keith explains. He straddles Shiro’s lap easily, petting his fingers into his husband’s hair. Shiro’s eyes fall shut, relaxed and vulnerable to Keith, letting Keith do as he pleases. “ _On the quintant-name, we celebrate with that name._ ” 

“Mm,” Shiro hums, melting beneath Keith’s sure hands as he scritches his nails along his mate’s scalp. 

He’s handsome like this, as he is in all ways— face perfectly relaxed, eyelashes fanning across his flushed cheeks, perfectly trusting in Keith’s hands. And Keith would give the world, the universe, for this man. He would do any manner of things for this man. 

He knew it the moment he recognized the mating pull, the moment he knew he would be drawn, irrevocably, forever, to Shiro’s side. He knows he’d have chosen Shiro even with its absence. 

“And?” Shiro prompts when Keith doesn’t continue. 

“Today is your quintant-name.” Keith pauses. “Your birthday.” 

Shiro opens his eyes to look at him. 

Keith traces his fingers down the line of Shiro’s jaw. “I am grateful to this day.” 

“Because it made me special?” Shiro asks, teasing again. 

“ _Because,_ ” Keith says with a nod, “ _I cannot and will not imagine a universe without you. I am grateful to this quintant that marks your arrival._ ” 

“Keith—” 

Keith kisses him. He sinks against Shiro, kissing him slow and deep. He swallows the soft sound Shiro makes, content to touch him, to kiss him, to breathe life into his lungs. He will give Shiro everything. He will always give Shiro everything. 

When they part again, Shiro’s eyes look a little misty, his smile sweet. “Keith.” 

“On Daibazaal,” Keith says, “we may choose the names that best suit us. It’s why I am both Keith and Yorak. It is why… it means much to me that you call me Keith.” 

“Keith,” Shiro says again, somewhat pointedly. 

Keith smiles, the rattle licking to life in his chest. He kisses Shiro’s smiling mouth. “We celebrate through battle.” 

“Of _course_ you do,” Shiro says. “Too bad we can’t really spar here.” 

Keith pets his fingers through Shiro’s hair. He’s always happy to hear him say things like this— proof that he enjoys sparring with Keith as much as Keith does him. It feels like something very much them, too. Something about their spot on Altea, the place where they fell in love. 

“Should I go blow out my candle?” Shiro asks. 

Keith looks over at the cake, some of that familiar anxiety twisting in his chest. “… You will make a wish.” 

“Yep,” Shiro says, and then stands— scooping Keith up easily in his arms as he does. Keith squawks in surprise and clings, startled by the sudden upending, but delighted always to be in his husband’s arms. 

Shiro walks back towards the table, carrying Keith with him. He settles Keith back down, keeping one arm looped around his shoulders. He picks up the pair of socks with his other hand, grinning.

“I like the stars,” he says. The socks have a shooting star motif— it seemed appropriate at the time, although Keith initially chose them because he thought they were seastars. He still fails to see how these are like the stars in the sky. Still, it makes Keith blush red-purple to see Shiro holding the socks, his delight clear. 

“You deserve more than this.” 

Shiro kisses him. “Shhh. I love it, Keith. I love _you_.” 

Some wax from the massive candle has dripped down onto the frosting, but Shiro doesn’t seem to mind. 

“I’ll teach you the song for next decaphoeb,” Shiro says, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and blows the candle out. 

Keith watches the curling twist of smoke coil away from the wick and Shiro opens his eyes again, smiling. He looks at Keith, expression sweet. 

“Now we just wait for it to come true.” 

“You cannot tell me,” Keith warns. 

“I know.” Shiro’s still smiling at him, chin tipped up. Waiting for a kiss, Keith realizes. 

Keith makes a sound and then obediently leans in to kiss him. 

Shiro’s smile widens and he murmurs, “Oh, my wish came true.”

And then he cups Keith’s face and kisses him harder. Keith grumbles, embarrassed and delighted at once, and digs his fingers into Shiro’s shoulders, tugging him down closer. 

When they part, Keith pouts up at him. 

“This is really so important to you,” Shiro marvels. He blushes. “I didn’t… I’m— You know I’m not used to someone caring about me this much.”

“You should,” Keith says. “I will always care.” 

Shiro laughs, a soft little sound, and he cups Keith’s face. He kisses his forehead. 

“I know, baby.” Shiro turns back to the cake. “So, let’s try it.” 

Shiro digs his fingers into the cake, prying off a modest piece between his fingertips. Keith frowns, eyeing the forks he’d set aside for them— perhaps cakes are not eaten with Terran utensils. Instead of bringing it to his mouth, though, Shiro offers the morsel to Keith. 

“You first,” Keith says. “You are honored today.”

“I want to see you try it,” Shiro says, gesturing. 

Keith sighs and takes the piece of cake into his mouth then, chewing thoughtfully. It’s exceptionally sweet— bordering too sweet for Keith’s liking— but his trill betrays him: he feels it twist up his chest, loud enough for Shiro to hear. 

Shiro grins. “Like it?” 

“It is… sweet,” Keith decides. He swallows the cake. “Like you.” 

“Awww, Keith,” Shiro whispers, blushing. He looks delighted. He eats a piece himself, too, and looks happier still. “Yeah, definitely sweet. But not too sweet.” 

“Do you like it?” Keith asks. 

Shiro eats another mouthful and then kisses Keith. 

“Thank you for wanting me to have a good birthday, Keith,” Shiro says. 

“It could have been better,” Keith insists.

Shiro shakes his head, eating cake and offering more to Keith. They eat for a few moments in silence, although Shiro looks thoughtful— collecting his words. 

“ _Why do you upset yourself with it?_ ” Shiro asks him. “ _Why are you worried?_ ”

And of course his mate would notice as much.

Keith looks down, but Shiro is both stubborn and persistent— he waits and does not ask again. He stands there, close enough for Keith to touch, and is patient. 

Keith sighs. “I wished… for you to have a good memory. Before we leave.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I… worry,” Keith settles on. Shiro tilts his head and Keith says, “I worry that you will be disappointed once you come to Daibazaal.” 

Shiro’s expression flickers with surprise. “Keith.” 

Keith looks away. “I believe my father was lonely,” Keith says. “He loved us. But… he was alone.” 

His father crashed onto Daibazaal, long before any talks of peace. He was separated from his home planet, from his home people, and unable to communicate with the Marmora clan. Despite his best efforts, his father had no affinity for language— he learned only passable Galran, while his mother only passable Terran. 

Silence follows Keith’s statement, the room silent and smelling of candle smoke. The cloying sweetness of the cake sits heavy on Keith’s tongue, the words now gone from him and leaving him empty. 

He’s spoken it. He cannot take it back. 

“I know you do not hate me… Galra,” Keith says. He believes Shiro when he says as much, believes that Shiro means it when he says he holds no resentment to the Galran people, much less Keith’s clan. “But…”

He struggles to find the words, frustrated. Shiro hums gently but is otherwise quiet, waiting for Keith to find his words. Helplessly, Keith lifts his hand, tracing the arc of the scar across his husband’s nose. 

Frustrated, he switches to Galran instead: “ _I fear you will be lonely on Daibazaal. That you will regret the choice… that it will bring back painful memories._ ” 

His heart pounds in his chest once the words leave him and he waits for Shiro to translate the words. He sees the knit to his brow, unsure how many of the words would have connected for him and how many would be left untranslated. 

Shiro takes both of Keith’s hands, threading their fingers together. 

“Keith,” Shiro says. “ _You will always be my choice._ ” 

Keith shakes his head, wanting to shove down the urge to cry. He swallows thickly. “ _Daibazaal hardly feels like my home sometimes… how could it be yours, in that case? How can I bring you there knowing you will be unhappy?_ ” 

“Keith—” 

“ _How can I give you that life? What sort of mate can I be if I bring you to a lonely planet? You will be the only Human on Daibazaal._ ” 

He sucks in a sharp breath and holds it, waiting for Shiro’s agreement. Or, worse, Shiro’s dismissal of it— Shiro’s assurance that always comes at his own expense: that he does not matter.

Instead, Shiro says, “Before I met you, I was used to being alone.” 

Keith closes his eyes, a sad trill vibrating his throat. 

“But, Keith,” Shiro adds. “With you, I never feel alone.” 

Keith shakes his head. 

“And,” Shiro adds, waiting. He touches Keith’s hand. “I won’t be the only Human on Daibazaal.” 

“Wh—” That makes Keith’s eyes open. 

But Shiro simply says, “You’ll be there with me, too.” 

Keith stares at him.

Shiro smiles. “You’re Galra and Human, Keith. You’re my mate. I won’t ever be alone. Never truly.”

Keith must look shocked, his eyes wide and his ears perked up. Shiro’s smile is fond as he looks at him, his voice sweet and gentle. 

“We’ll figure it out together, right?” He squeezes Keith’s hand. “… This is why the birthday means so much to you? You want to make me happy?”

“I… I must prove I can. You will be on a planet that is not yours,” Keith says. “You have done much to learn my culture. The… less I can do.” 

“Least,” Shiro corrects when Keith pauses, looking to Shiro for help. 

Keith nods. “The least I can do is learn yours.” 

Instead of answering him, Shiro smiles at him and then cups Keith’s face, kissing him. It makes Keith purr in surprise, melting into his touch. It somehow always takes him by surprise when Shiro touches him. 

He trills softly when Shiro draws back, chasing after him and kissing him more purposefully. He wants to taste Shiro’s smile. 

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro breathes. He doesn’t say anything else, but Keith hardly minds— he loves the way Shiro says his name. He loves when Shiro simply says it like he can’t get enough of saying it. 

Shiro runs his hands over Keith’s shoulders and down his arms, smoothing out the fabric of his tunic. 

“It’s your gesture,” Shiro says and Keith nods. He blinks when Shiro leans in not to kiss him on the mouth, but his cheek, then the crook of his jaw. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.” 

Keith feels his ears flick back, brow furrowing. But Shiro smiles at him.

“… My husband exaggerates,” Keith decides. 

Shiro shakes his head. “It’s true. I got to show you the stars, and fish! And we had barbeque and you took a bath with me.” He grins. “I don’t need anything extravagant. I just need you.” 

Keith blushes, looking away.

But Shiro cups his chin and tilts his head up again, staring into his eyes. “And now I have a cute pair of socks, so my feet don’t get cold at night. You’ll like that.” 

It’s true that Shiro’s cold feet are quite shocking to feel in the middle of the night. Keith feels his expression ripple, overwhelmed and splintering.

“Shh,” Shiro soothes, although he can’t hear Keith’s under-voice, swiping his thumb across Keith’s mouth before leaning in to kiss him. “Sweetheart. Baby. Oh, Keith.” 

Keith realizes then that he is making a sound— a low, painful thrum. He sucks in a breath and kisses Shiro back, desperately. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers against his mouth. 

Shiro bites at Keith’s lip, just the softest sting, and it grounds Keith. He clings to his husband, holding tight and just letting himself breathe— to be surrounded by Shiro in all ways. His scent, his touch, his lips, his breath. Shiro. 

“I… only wished to give you a good birthday,” Keith admits once they part, feeling breathless.

“You did,” Shiro assures him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it or give you more to work with.” 

“You do not think of yourself,” Keith grumbles, sinking into Shiro’s arms as Shiro rubs his back. “That is your way.” 

Shiro kisses the top of his head. “I’ll do better. I promise. Only the most selfish lover from now on.”

Keith peers up at him, frowning. 

“And,” Shiro says. “I promise not to lie if I feel lonely on Daibazaal. I’ll tell you. And then we can fix it. Together.”

That sends warmth blooming in Keith’s chest, reassuring and grounding. He nods his head, feeling his expression loosen. He closes his eyes with a soft breath when Shiro strokes his cheek with his thumb.

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs. “I love you.” 

Keith nods and kisses the mating mark on Shiro’s neck. “I know. As I do you.” 

Shiro nods and hugs him tight. It always feels good to be held by Shiro. Now is no exception. 

“I wish to give you a proper gift, then,” Keith says. “You will tell me what that is.”

“Oh,” Shiro says, grinning. “That’s—” 

“And you are not allowed to say me.” 

“Damn,” Shiro sighs, humming. 

Keith makes sure Shiro’s looking when he rolls his eyes. It makes Shiro laugh, playing with Keith’s hair. 

“Let me think,” Shiro says, and Keith nods. He can be patient when he must be.

Shiro takes his time with it. He rocks from foot to foot, cradling Keith close. The swaying is comforting and Keith sinks into it, closing his eyes and listening to the beat of Shiro’s heart in his chest as they move together. He doesn’t interrupt and he lets Shiro focus. 

The time stretches onward. It breaks Keith’s heart to think of how unused to selfishness his mate is— how thinking of something he needs, something for just himself, is so foreign. Even the socks are for Keith’s benefit. 

Finally, Shiro says, “I want a pet fish.” 

Keith makes a sound and looks up at him, frowning. “ _Really?_ ” 

“Because,” Shiro says, as if he expected Keith’s disbelief, “it will remind me of our spot on Altea. The slumberfish. And also the aquarium.” He laughs at Keith’s expression. “It’ll only give me good memories.” 

Keith relaxes and nods his head. “I will buy you a fish, if that’s truly what you want.” 

“Well,” Shiro says, eyes twinkling. “I guess Hunk didn’t explain to you the tradition of birthday sex… _that_ would be a great gift. Just saying.” 

Keith snorts and bites Shiro’s mouth, feeling the bloom of Shiro’s smile pressed against Keith’s tongue. 

They eat a little more cake and then Shiro bounces back onto the bed. He tugs off his current pair of socks and puts on the starry socks Keith purchased for him instead. He grins as he holds his feet up for Keith’s inspection, wriggling his toes. The stars look cute on his massive feet. 

Keith catches one foot and shoves his trousers up his shin, pressing a kiss to his ankle. It makes Shiro bark a surprised laugh. Keith feels himself smile, and doesn’t try to hold it back. He lets it unfurl slowly and watches Shiro’s grows in response. 

Shiro, Keith thinks absently, is powerful and strong— and Keith realizes that he must feel like a boy with Keith, too. They must make each other feel happier. 

He has to trust Shiro. Trust that he will be happy on Daibazaal. And, if not, that he will tell Keith— and Keith will move the stars themselves to fix it. 

Keith climbs up onto the bed and pushes Shiro into his back— intent on giving him the supposed birthday sex gift he so desires. 

-

Later, well after the sun has sunk in the sky, golden light filtering in through the open window, Shiro and Keith lounge naked in the borrowed bed. Keith’s hair is a mess again but he’s otherwise rattling— purring, as Shiro would call it. He nuzzles at Shiro’s kiss-bruised shoulder and feels lighter. 

“We could probably take another bath soon, if you wanted,” Shiro offers. 

Keith hears it for the purposeful request that it is, nodding. “I will make you a bath.” 

They are a bit of a mess. But for now, Keith contents himself with cuddling. 

Shiro hums, playing with Keith’s hair. They lapse into another pleasant silence, listening to the birdsong just beyond the window, to the sounds of the world existing outside them. It sounds nothing like Daibazaal does in late afternoon, but he thinks Shiro will love to discover all the ways in which their planets are different. That is, after all, who Shiro is.

“A garden,” Shiro says after they’ve been silent for so long.

“Mm?” Keith hums. “What?” 

“I want a garden,” Shiro says, looking out the window. When he feels Keith’s eyes on him, he turns his head to regard him. “If you’re so worried I’ll feel lonely on Daibazaal, then help me bring something of Earth there, too. For both of us.” 

Keith blinks at him. 

“I want succulents and cacti,” Shiro says. “I want rhododendrons. Roses. I want Altean Antovian trees.” 

“It is— difficult to grow plants on Daibazaal above-ground,” Keith says cautiously. “And of another planet?”

“I know,” Shiro says. “But who’s more stubborn than us?” 

“If anyone were to make a tree grow, it would be you,” Keith agrees after some thought. He likes the idea of it— a lush patch of green, brought to life through Shiro’s sheer force of will. 

“I want to lie in the sealgrass with you, Keith.” 

Love crashes through Keith’s chest. He makes a sound, a mix between trill and purr. Shiro smiles at him, expression moony and sweet— a man in love. The kindest eyes that Keith’s ever known. 

Shiro whispers, “I want to be home. With you.” 

Keith nods, his heart singing in his chest. He kisses the spot just above Shiro’s heart. A promise. A vow. 

Keith imagines that world, all those decaphoebs stretching out before them: Keith and Shiro, his husband, his mate. The two of them on Daibazaal, coaxing life from seedlings. He imagines Shiro in the morning, the light playing in his hair, his hand cupping a flower as he offers it to Keith. 

He imagines Shiro, again, lying on his back in sealgrass, laughing up at Keith like Keith is the entire world. He wants a thousand more mornings like that with Shiro, just the two of them, peaceful. 

The two of them, home together. Wherever their stars might fall. 

“ _I will give you the universe,_ ” Keith says, voice soft, his under-voice singing. “ _I will give you flowers every day._ ” 

Shiro’s smile is the sweetest thing, as precious as a flower on Daibazaal. He tips Keith’s chin up to kiss him, and the world feels more like theirs. At peace. 

Keith sinks into that kiss and lets himself trust.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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